Beige
by Yoyoboyo Inc
Summary: Darkfic: Shinichi's weakness has always been Kid. Warning: blackmail, future noncon, underage [KxS]
1. hold down your head now

AN: This story takes place in an AU verse where Shinichi hasn't been turned into Conan and he's in a pre-existing relationship with Kaito.

Please heed the warnings as this story will become very dark starting with the next chapter.

**Trigger warnings for: dark, blackmail, sexual ****harassment/ rape/ non-con, underage.**

**Note: I highly recommend reading this with a smaller (8-9) pt size font (just zoom out on to 90%) with the line spacing/ line expanse at it's max. Just if you like, since I don't really like the appeal of squished and large text. xD**

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When he pulls open his shoe locker, there is a crisp blank envelope sitting above his black dress shoes.

Faintly textured, beige, and smells heavy of a familiar musk_—_

He shreds it open, fingers wedging through the torn space and feels the edge of a paper. _This is__—_

What he pulls out is a lazy scrawl across torn notebook paper.

"Shinichi, are you all right?"

A hand pats his shoulder. He shrugs it away, crushing the note and shoving it deep into his pockets.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Ran."

When she gives him an unsure smile, he returns a toothy grin. With a bounce, she steps before him, piping up about the latest gossip concerning a famous actor Shinichi doesn't care for—

Crumpled paper heavy in his pocket, Shinichi pretends to listen.

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_._

_Lunch break, Office 231. Don't be late._

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Shinichi drops his bag near the door and stays close to the wall.

"What is it?"

The man regards him, and leans against his office desk, black suit stretching around the girth of his midsection. He breathes in, a ragged sound in the silence.

Shinichi feels eyes tracing the curve of his neck and slithering _down__—_

"I hope I'm not in trouble," Shinichi starts, a half smile on his lips. A shiver climbs up his spine and he teeters back, lifting his hand to rub away the shiver in his arm. "…Sensei?"

He swallows rid of the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

(The overpowering fruity odor in the air smothers the air he's breathing.)

The teacher takes in a slow breath and holds it for a few seconds. "No, not at all_—_" he breathes, a relaxed smile curls into a sneer. "I just want to chat, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi stares past him and at the bookshelf. A glint catches his eye_—_video cameras.

(A video camera tucked right up in the top corner of a shelf, it's so obvious_—_why is it there?)

"About my scores? Last I checked, I've been getting perfect marks on all your tests." Shinichi shifts on the balls of his feet as he crosses his arms.

"You do surprisingly well on them, I'm rather impressed."

A second passes as a cold chill skates down his side.

Shinichi ignores it.

"Don't you think that's funny, Yamada-sensei?" He asks, leaning back against the wall. "Answers with no real…_probable_ mathematical solution. After a while, one will wonder…"

Yamada smiles_—_ (smiles…?), eyes hiding behind the fat of his cheeks. He brushes a meaty finger over the space on his chin and hums, "Oh? Enlighten me with your findings, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi falters.

(It's only a front. Most criminals usually have a front before they crash_—)_

"I've noticed something odd, sensei. When the tests are returned, answers differ among each student. But a majority of the class receives average results despite what they wrote. Most people are content with mediocre results and don't bother to question how they ever passed."

(After all, it's only been Shinichi who had the class' highest scores_—for writing actual answers._)

His voice cracks and Shinichi swallows_—_or tries to. His tongue sticks to the roof his mouth. He pauses and starts again, and ignores Yamada's self-assured smile.

"But there's a select few who aren't so lucky, and they are to attend mandatory after school tutoring sessions. Taught by you, personally."

Yamada is still, knuckles scraping against the beige of his teeth. And then he smiles, the amiable grin that he shows in the classroom_—_ "Well, yes, of course, Kudou-kun. I do care for my students. Many graduates wouldn't have made it into their ideal universities if it wasn't for my help."

(Wrap up a dark splotch of ink in beige paper and it becomes everything but unnatural.)

"A sin covered with a pile of good deeds," Shinichi mutters, tilting his head, eyes slanting. "With your private office located at the end of an abandoned hall, no one can hear anything. No one can say anything."

Shinichi stills but something in his gut twists when Yamada just _stares _and says nothing.

He doesn't like it.

"What happened to my classmates, sensei?"

He pushes his hands into his pockets, the flat of his finger sliding against the smooth surface of the recorder. Three minutes have passed since he walked in, the tape can only hold ten.

Shinichi waits for him to laugh and confess like every other criminal did—

He doesn't.

There's a gleam in his eyes as he watches Shinichi breathe. With a sudden inhale, Yamada drags his finger across the bottom of his lip, and smiles.

"Someone has been playing detective…" he growls, a deep-throated sound that makes Shinichi's lungs clench. "It makes for a_—…cute _deduction…hn?"

Yamada purrs, the sound crawls under his skin. Beady eyes drift to his fingernails—stubby, brown, sharp.

Shinichi forces a grin, "There were three deaths. _Anybody_ would be curious as to why."

He laughs and it startles Shinichi to trip back. Yamada inspects his fingers with a disinterested look. "You're well acquainted with the police, am I right?"

Shinichi's finger hovers over the button of the pocket recorder and he's just _waiting_ for it.

"…Somewhat. I've worked with them for years."

Yamada snorts and his lips stretch into a wide smile, showing gum and tobacco stained teeth. He lets his hand drop wipes his fingers on suede black pants.

"They had a pet-name for you, I remember. It appeared in the papers a few times—ah_…_what was it again?"

Shinichi takes in a breath of the air reeking with a floral spike and subtle tang.

"Detective of the East?"

Shinichi raises his chin and glares, "And what of it?"

Yamada throws his head back and barks in laughter, light and wistful.

Shinichi swallows, mouth gone dry.

The laugh stops short in Yamada's throat as he brings his eyes down and fixes them on Shinichi.

He turns his hand and shows Shinichi his palm, red and moist.

"Come here. There is something I want to tell you, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi doesn't budge.

"I can hear perfectly from here, Yamada-sensei."

Yamada's smile drops and Shinichi can hear his pulse thrum in his ears. A heartbeat and Yamada's eyes widen, head shifting a bit and exposing a throat wrapped up in a damp collar.

He curls his finger, in, out, and in again, beckoning Shinichi closer—

"If I were you," he takes a long drag of the stench in the air. "I wouldn't want to chance it. We can't have people _hearing_ things."

He pauses.

(Hearing things… hearing _what_?)

Shinichi puts his weight on his toes and shifts forward. With each step forward, he thinks to take five steps back and out of the room, just _out— _

But curiosity has Shinichi standing three steps away from him.

"Good boy."

Yamada turns on his desk, wood groaning under his weight. He gathers up a manila folder, beige and speckled with damp spots of grease.

Shinichi catches his stare and Yamada laughs, easy and smooth. "Let's see this, why don't we?"

_(What is in there—?)_

"Kaitou Kid."

Silence closes him in and a blink later, he finds himself thrown back into the stifling room.

Kid—?

What about _Kid_—?

"He's quite the interesting man, isn't he? I heard he has a heavy amount of charges over his head: theft, attempt of theft, resisting arrest, unlicensed use of aerial vehicle, disobeying authority. It's such a shame."

Shinichi's voice turns flat. "What is."

Yamada picks through papers, eyes peering at them underneath short lashes. Shinichi hears him sigh, emphatic. "That Japan's famed detective of the East…is hiding him."

Shinichi glares at the bookcase behind Yamada, jaw taut and tense. "I…don't know what you're talking about," he says, voice flat.

"Oh? Shall I jar your memory?" he asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "Registered residence in Ekoda…"

Shinichi clenches the fabric on the side of his pants, breath growing short as panic piles in his throat and he _can't _breathe—

"Occupation: high school student at Ekoda High, class 3-B—"

"No, I don't—" Shinichi whispers, voice dry and quiet. Yamada spares him a glance without batting an eye, there's a sickening smirk pulling his lips—

"Known by many as the prankster, magician, _thief_—"

Shinichi shoots out an arm and tears at the papers—stop, stop, _stop_.

A flutter and the papers spill into the air, creating a cascade of white. Shinichi stares, eyes wide and unbelieving, as they float to his feet—blank papers, all blank— _how_ did he know—

(How did he know about _Kid_?)

He blinks and then fingers slither around his wrist and tug him close. Plump lips and the prickle of a beard graze the shell of his ear.

"Kuroba—"

"Stop—!"

Shinichi shoves himself back, arms out and knees shaking.

Yamada tilts his hand, letting the rest of the blank papers tumble from his hand.

All blank papers.

"You see, I've been noticing you."

A palm cradles the expanse of his cheek. Warm, moist, suffocating—the pad of his thumb traces the curve under his eye.

"You've become something like an _interest_ to me," Yamada whispers. "You see, it's too easy finding the weak points in children these days. Mention their friends and family and they shrivel up. Won't say a word, so weak, so fragile—the lot of them."

He pulls Shinichi closer, fingers twirling into the hairs on the back of his head. He sees a wall of black cloth as the hand moves to stroke between his shoulder blades.

_Stop— _

"But Kudou-kun… Kudou-kun is different." Fingers drum in rhythms, trailing down to the small of his back and up.

_Stop this— _

"So clever, so smart that nothing shakes him up. With his legion of police, why would Kudou-kun worry about parents and friends?"

"Stop—" He lifts his arms to shove— meaty fingers dig into his scalp and tighten. Shinichi feels his words slide back down his throat and he chokes.

"But I wondered—what would make Kudou-kun scared? What is that one thing that Kudou-kun can't protect with the law he has wrapped around his little finger? What secret is he hiding in that heart? Or rather, _who_—?"

Shinichi's arms fall limp to his sides, and he growls to the side. "How did you know—"

Satisfied, Yamada loosens the hold on his hair and cards his fingers down the back of his head, drumming lightly on the nape of his neck "A bit of research always helps."

The hands leave his neck and trails to Shinichi's front, thumbs tracing the uniform's lapels. Shinichi doesn't blink when fingers slide down his suit, peeling away the blue and revealing white fabric.

"You'd be surprised, Kudou-kun."

The pale jacket is left hanging on his shoulders and with a light pull, it tumbles off and joins the white pile on the floor.

"Being a teacher has a lot of privileges." Yamada presses closer, lips mumbling into the side of Shinichi's head.

He feels hands ghost up his chest, fingers flat and drawing circles into the skin under his dress shirt. "Offering private tutoring sessions to the students doing poorly in school. Making house visits."

Shinichi turns his head away from the hand fingering his chin.

"We have access to files, information, places. I know you visit the station twice a week, so excited to join the murder parties that I think sometimes you've forgotten to_ lock up_." He pauses at the visible twitch in Shinichi's shoulder. His breathing quickens. "So tired with by the end of the day, you never noticed them."

"Noticed _what_?" Shinichi growls, his voice unsteady.

"The cameras, Kudou-kun. I always have been…"

A finger hooks into the knot of Shinichi's tie and tugs.

"…watching you."

Shinichi's breath hitches when hands feel down his waist—the _tape_.

Yamada draws back, the wires of the pocket recorder looped around and hanging from his fingers.

"I've watched you dance around your classmates' suicides. You were convinced that it was something much more than pre-university stress, relationship problems, trivial, little things. "

"I like you, Kudou-kun." Shinichi watches him run fingers over the gray buttons. "So curious, confident…arrogant. But this dirty secret of yours…mm, it certainly doesn't help."

He smiles, and drags the small recorder across his lower lip, teeth baring and ready to bite. "Kudou Shinichi is in association with the Phantom Thief Kid—as a romantic partner and even going so far as to live with him."

Shinichi pales as he watches the tape drop to the floor, a large shoe comes to crush it under its heel. Yamada laughs, deep and rough, a sound that leaves a tightening clasp on Shinichi's throat.

"Wouldn't _that_ make the headline news?"

"…Why would you—"

Shinichi doesn't watch how Yamada pulls himself off his desk walks around it, or how there is a jingle of his keys as he twists it into the lock of his desk drawer.

"Hm…no reason."

Wood scrapes against wood, and there are heavy clunks against the bottom of the drawer. Shinichi closes his eyes and he _knows _what's coming, because that's what he's been deducing all this time—

"Just a tad bit bored. You know how it ended for the three classmates of yours." He hears a half-hearted sigh. "Suicide, suicide… suicide."

He jolts when a hum sputters loud in front of him and he _knows _the sound, can recognize the drone of hard plastic against sweaty palms.

"I hope you're a bit different from the rest."

The voice comes from his left and Shinichi breathes, has to tell himself to breathe—

Three paces closer and there's a moist mouth on his temple. He exhales and thinks himself away from the office, thinks himself back in his home sipping hot coffee and reading files that _weren't_ the suicides of his classmates—

_This will be fine, he'll be okay, _is what he tells himself when something like bile snakes up his throat with his meager lunch in tow.

He is pulled close to a black suit, reeking of sweat and cheap cologne, and he lets him.

Eyes hollow, mind distant, Shinichi stares at the manila folders swimming on the wooden desk.

"What do you say, Kudou-kun?"

Under a worn cover of the folder, he sees Kaito, his house, his name, his secret.

"Please don't disappoint me."

It all looks so very beige.

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AN: So this has been something we've always had in the back of my mind, and it's finally being written! We hope you've enjoyed the chapters and look forward to more in the future! :)

Reviews are always appreciated!

**-Yoyoboyo Inc.**


	2. you can't breathe underwater

AN: Thank you so much for all the reviews! It really warms our heart to know that the story is well received despite its dark theme. :D And because we were very motivated and inspired— here is the next chapter!

**We're jumping right into the non-con!** It'll be a lot of hurt the next few chapters before the comfort comes. ; n ; Please be patient! (Kaito will come soon!)

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There are ten cameras placed in the room.

One snuck between the books on the shelf, one hidden under the ledge of his desk, one embedded in the bottom ridge of the clock—

(Thin wires are pinned to his chest with scotch tape; they barely blend with his skin (once white now flushed red). The patches, wires, and tape are beige.)

"I've bought this especially for you. Convenient, aren't they?"

Shinichi doesn't answer.

One of the cameras is in the far corner, a small speck of dark brown that would have been overlooked if Shinichi wasn't glaring at it—

(Clothes crumpled on the floor around his knees, boxers hooked to the ankle of his left foot, and wrists firmly locked behind his back with his tie.)

The shelf to the right has ten math books and snow globes decorating the bare wooden surface. The armchair is an ugly shade of gray and has light splotches crusted over with a residue of beige—

(The remote is strapped securely to his thigh; no dials, just on or off. Just a maddening thrum and spikes of pleasure searing through his veins.)

There's a burn on his scalp when he's tugged by the hair. His cheek presses against something black, firm, and smelly—

"You know what to do."

(He tries to ignore the ache piling in his abdomen and the wet sliding down between his knees.)

Shinichi glares as he rights himself. He pinches the zipper down with his teeth, and the noise cuts through the rumble of the air conditioner.

(He doesn't want— _doesn't_—)

Shinichi hesitates two seconds too long and a hand reaches past the elastic band and pulls it up, thick and dank.

(He wants to get out—)

He looks anywhere but at the twitching skin in his face—

(There's a small, white puddle on the tiled floor and heat flames the skin of his cheeks, he blinks and his eyelids become moist—)

"Suck."

—for Kaito, do it for _Kaito_.

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(He feels like he's underwater.)

Eyes wet and shut, he laps at the beads of precum and traces the bumps and prominent veins with his tongue. The tang mixes with sour bile.

(Allowed to surface for a split second of air before being shoved under again.)

He holds his breath, hollows his cheeks, and opens his mouth.

Hands grip his hair and pull him down.

(He's drowning and falling deeper, much—)

"Deeper—"

He gurgles, eyes widening, water spilling down his cheeks.

(He feels like he's ten miles under, and he starts seeing the world with a mosaic blurred lens.)

Shinichi wants to pull away and gasp—instead, his mouth slides back over the cock, lubed with cum and spit—

(He pretends that he is somewhere else, in his father's library, reading the new Night Baron while leaning against Kaito's shoulder. But water floods through the windows of his study and everything shatters—)

Breathy curses tumble over his head as fingers spin knots into his hair, dictating the push and pull, in and out, creating a slew of sickening wet sounds—

(Think _other_ things—)

It's too hot.

(Other…)

He can't breathe.

(Other things—)

Something warm, sticky, and slippery floods into his mouth and Shinichi chokes. The fat cock is pressed flush against the back of his throat and heat glides down in spurts.

He tries to pull away, but the grip on his head is unrelenting.

(And he's held there. And held there. And held—)

"_Ahk_—" Shinichi coughs hoarsely, lips red and swollen. Diluted white seeps from the corner of his mouth as he swallows air.

It's done—isn't it?

(_Please, god, please let this be done_.)

He shuts his eyes and sucks the hot air through clenched teeth.

(The pain in his chest finds some kind of relief with each gulp of air—breathe, breathe, _breathe_.)

Sweaty palms smooth the skin on his butt and he finds the air stopping in his lungs.

"Amazing… so pale—"

"W-Wait—" Shinichi lifts his head from Yamada's lap. "Isn't this enough, you bastar—_ghk_—"

He finds himself staring up at the shadows falling over Yamada's face. Thick fingers curl under his jaw, around his throat. He hears the cartilage in his throat crunch under the bruising pressure and it sickens him.

(Breathe, breathe—you're still alive.)

"Sensei. Yamada-_sensei_." Shinichi watches his tongue flicker and lap the sweat collected under his nose. "Are we clear, Kudou-kun?"

Shinichi's lips quiver—_fuck you, fuck you_, he wants to say. But Shinichi's mouth opens and he sputters, "Y-Yes, sensei."

Yamada lets go and pets him, hands sweeping aside the sweaty clumps of hair on his forehead.

"You have a problem here, don't you?" Yamada exhales, hand lifting from his throat and floating down to grip between his legs.

Shinichi shivers and jerks to the feather light touch. Fingers drag away and he feels hot, heavy, cold—

(Suffocating under ten miles of pressure.)

"Sensei will take care of it for you."

Shinichi shakes his head.

(_"No more, please—"_)

—He gasps, but Yamada doesn't stop. Didn't even hear him, probably.

Yamada's hand slides right in between his legs, skating across the tight ring of muscles. Something cold and slippery spills over where Yamada's fingers were. He feels himself clench before something smooth, round, and _pulsating_ presses into him, forcing him open—

Shinichi's screams are muffled into the the folds of Yamada's slacks. His fingernails claw against his own skin and the green tie and the red chafe marks along his wrists—

(He pretends—pretends that Kaito is stacking food into his rice bowl during dinner, "You need to eat more—")

Hard, slippery fingers dig after the vibrator and pushes it deeper— Shinichi whimpers, his body bending back.

"Do you feel good here?" Yamada crooks his fingers and Shinichi sees white noise colliding in flecks across his vision.

"_Ah, ah, ah_, nn—"

Shinichi thinks of nothing but how _it hurts, it hurts, stop, please, stop_—

The fingers withdraw.

Shinichi falls limp, chest heaving as patches vibrators continuing its drone against his nipples. He rests with Yamada's cock stiffening in his face.

(He pretends they're doing homework on the kitchen table after dinner, and Kaito is an arm's length away to give him help with physics that he doesn't really need—)

Shinichi jerks at the hand under his erection; three seconds pass and Yamada is rolling the hard cock in a wet, sticky palm. He squeezes and crushes it against the small oval taped beneath it—

Shinichi presses his face into Yamada's side, breath ragged— "N-No—Stop—"

Yamada laughs, a sound lost in the haze of Shinichi's mind. He feels the violent shake and electricity jolting up his cock before he hears the click of the remote responsible for it.

(He pretends he's lazing on their bed, pillows stacked under his chest as he thumbs through _A Study in Scarlet_. There's a dip in the space next to him and a laugh hovering over his shoulder—)

_Ripp—_

"We can't have you dirtying yourself through the rest of the school day—" Something hot, greasy, and tight is slipped over him and scotch tape wraps twice around the base.

(He pretends that—)

His wrists ache once his tie comes undone behind him. His skin is on fire, frail bones raw under the paper thin flesh.

Shinichi lets his knees give way and immediately wished he didn't.

(He pretends—)

"See me after class." Yamada stands from the worn armchair of his, tucking himself back into his pants. Shinichi doesn't look up as he struggles to gather his discarded pieces of clothing. "For a_ tutoring session_, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi slips on his wrinkled clothes, trembling fingers putting the wrong buttons into the wrong slits. He staggers to his feet, breath short and rib cage aching.

(He's trying, but—)

_It hurts._

A hand fondles the side of his face and Shinichi clenches his eyes shut.

In the waves of shakes and trembles, Shinichi hears the after-lunch bell shrieking faintly in the halls.

"I'll be watching you, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi shudders when Yamada's breath warms his lips.

"If you're not a good boy, we'll see where Kuroba-kun ends up, hm?"

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AN: As always, reviews are appreciated! Thank you for reading! :D

**-Yoyoboyo Inc.**


	3. it's all just a very long dream

AN: Hello~ We're back again with another chapter of Beige after getting a bit side tracked with _Front Row and Center._ Hope you enjoy! :D

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He's moved himself to the back corner of the classroom, head tucked in between his arms and he recites _The Sign of Four_ under his breath as a constant reminder for himself to breathe.

(But there's that fear sitting and coiling in the back of his head, thoughts twisting— _"Look at you, Kudou Shinichi. Look at you. What if people looked at you?"_)

He's done reciting the end of the novel and moves on to the next, _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.

(He tries to ignore the curious glances from his classmates because there's no doubt that they've _heard_ or _smelled_ something—but no one says anything yet.)

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table—"

_("Look at you. What if people looked at you?")_

_._

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_._

Shinichi had never bothered to remember the days of the week.

The week ended when it ended, and started when it started.

He usually misses important dates, because numbers are irrelevant to counting the days when every day is nearly identical to the next.

(Shinichi finds himself staring at the pocket calendar in the back of his notebook, pen tracing X's impressed on the boxes of Monday and Tuesday.)

How many more days until the week ends? Three?

It's only three hours per day but that leaves him with twenty-one hours to replay it until it's burned into his memories.

(It all feels like a long dream.)

Three hours a day.

But a total of ninety-six hours left until the weekend.

(It feels so very long.)

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He usually goes into the police station every Wednesday and Friday. From the afternoon to evening, he'd spend hours hovering over officers' shoulders, working with them to solve cases, crack codes, check theories.

But today…

Megure-keibu sends him home the very second Shinichi reaches the door of the station.

Most officers try to be discreet, but Shinichi feels their stares boring into his skin.

(Staring at the mess he is, the disheveled clothes, how he stares into the space above their shoulders— _"Look at you. What if people looked at you?")_

_—staring at the ghost that he's become._

"Shinichi-kun, we're all right for today," Megure says and he cups his back with a firm pat. Shinichi winces. "No need to worry your head over anything. Why don't you head home to rest?"

He tries to argue. "How about a cold case file? You should have some—"

"Nothing that we can't handle," Megure laughs as he retreats to his office.

Satou sneaks behind him like how she always does and clasps her hands on Shinichi's shoulders. "Good afternoon, Shinichi-kun~"

"Satou-keiji—" He turns to her. "Tell me that you have something— _anything _I can do?"

She stares at him and tilts her head. "You okay, Shinichi-kun? You look like you haven't slept. Maybe you should go home—"

(—back to the swallowing silence, to the memories that play like a broken tape in his mind.)

He shudders and shakes his head. A nervous smile pulls at his lips, "I'm alright, haha—"

Satou considers him, doubt knitting her brows together.

(—please, please _don't_.)

There's a comforting squeeze on his shoulder, but it feels like needles stabbing into his skin. Satou gives him a private smile, a quirk in her lip and a softening edge to her eyes. "Get rest."

Whether it's woman's intuition or not, her small sigh seems to say—_hang on_.

"Okay…" He finds himself deflating.

She's like a mother.

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During the nights, he sits alone and pretends Kaito is with him while time crawls on.

He imagines the warmth of Kaito's hand in his and it's what keeps the nightmares at bay—if only for a few minutes.

(When he stops thinking, there's a heavy breath moistening the skin on his neck—_ "I'll be watching you, Kudou-kun—"_ —he startles, skin clammy and pulse erratic.)

So he keeps thinking.

Brain whirring about everything and anything—cold case files, TV series, the discounts at the supermarket—until thoughts cross and nothing makes sense.

(Kaito had gone for a week to America for a relatives' wedding. He's coming back on Sunday night, his plane lands at 8:40 pm.)

Shinichi lugs a chair and sits in front of the large grandfather clock.

He struggles to stay awake, eyes following the ornate hand, ticking and ticking its way around the roman numerals.

He's counting down three days, sixteen hours, and forty-two minutes.

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He doesn't remember when the clock face disappears into darkness.

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Shinichi dreams in a world that has a watery film filtering over it.

He's in the hallway at school looking out smoky glass windows; Shinichi doesn't turn but he knows Kaito is a few paces away and asking about him.

"I'm fine," Shinichi says and he turns to look.

Kaito—or a blur of Kaito—shakes his head and there's something strange in the way he stands, the way he slouches over with a weight on his shoulder—it all looks so familiar.

"No, I'm not—"

"What?"

His dream skips and starts again and he's faced with a mirror and a blur of a figure that he needs to squint to make out.

(Dark shadows under bloodshot eyes, a grimace on his lips, and he's bone-skinny, pale white, this is a portrait of Shinichi—)

"This isn't fine, I'm not okay." The blur says and Shinichi watches him melt into sand—

Rewind a million times and his dream becomes like a broken record.

"_I'm not okay. I'm not okay, I'm not ok—"_

A wind blows and Shinichi sees a wisp of beige fade into black.

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It's Thursday.

He hardly calls that sleep, but he gets up at seven in the morning anyways because Shinichi is punctual even when his eyelids are heavy and his brain hammers for him to go back to bed.

His bones ache when he steps away from the small armchair; muscles screaming just for relief.

(He ignores it and begins his morning routines just the same.)

Shinichi fixes himself in the bathroom, eyes concentrating on the swirl of water emptying down the drain. He shuts the faucet before stumbling to his room to change.

His uniform lies on his bed; washed, pressed, and clean now. He peels the thin shirt from his back and winces as his skin prickle at the cold morning air.

(Red lines run across white, dark purple peppers down his side—)

He grabs his dress shirt and clenches his eyes shut—he's tired, eyes strained, don't look, _don't look—_

Shinichi leaves the house by 7:40, Ran stops waiting for him after 7:20.

(It's more convenient that way, because there's a limp he would have to hide from her.)

He gets to school by 8:20, and walks on his limp like nothing happened.

(This is fine, _he'll be okay—_ if he keeps telling himself, he'll come to believe it soon.)

Another day becomes another day.

.

.

.

Ran doesn't ask questions.

Shinichi is glad she doesn't.

She probably suspects that he's tired from retracing locations of cold case murders or that he's been poring over books during ungodly hours of the night because there's no _Kuroba_ to keep him in check.

(He's doing his best to smile, but she's his best friend, she _knows _even if she doesn't.)

Shinichi doesn't sit beside her and Ran is okay with that.

(He's in the corner, shoved his desk two inches to the left, ten inches back, and just puts his head against the surface.)

He's counting.

The hours, the minutes, the seconds.

It's almost lunch break.

"Shinichi?" The question hangs in the air and she has his lunch. She's worried but still no questions.

(Ran does make the effort to feed him though, bringing bentos for two even if he only looks at it and won't eat. _Can't_ eat—)

"Sorry, I have to go," he says.

He takes his bag with him, walks out the room, and down the hall.

He's counting.

The tiles on the floor, the steps.

(Twenty steps down the hall, turn left, walk ten more steps and he's in front of the door.)

He's counting.

The breaths, the shudders, the jolts of pain in his hips.

(It's all routine, just routine. _This is fine, he'll be okay._)

He's counting.

One day, four hours, and ten minutes to the weekend.

(He twists the doorknob, and a stifling air reaches out to greet him.)

He's counting.

("Good afternoon, Kudou-kun.")

Three days, eight hours, and forty-four minutes.

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.

Thursday bleeds into Friday just like any other night.

He forces himself awake.

Usually, when he's pulling all-nighters with case files or analysis papers, he brews pots of coffee and drinks nothing else. But now he's holding his first cup, gone cold after three hours, and doesn't drink.

(Can't drink, because he's swallowed _enough—_)

Shinichi has every light in his house turned on; eyes wide, blue chasing the hand as it ticks down and around.

He doesn't want to sleep.

Two hours pass and Shinichi wakes up, cold sweat on his brow, and he thinks he should eat _something_.

It's seven.

He can't stomach the slice of bread and ends up leaving at 8:30, when all the sour bile and everything else were flushed down the toilet.

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.

No one talks to him.

(People open their mouths, but to him they're whispering dirt, laughing at him about how he's all _shame_ with disgust tied around like a little bow.)

He jolts when a hand is on his shoulder, it's light and fleeting—_Ran_.

He can't see her, she's a mess of pale blue and soft beige against the white of the ceiling.

"Shinichi, I think you should see the nurse and head home—"

_("See me at lunch, Kudou-kun. Don't be late.")_

"Shinichi—?"

(In his mind, Shinichi is looking at her, smile on his face, and tells her he's perfectly fine and he can't leave, because—_"I have to stay." )_

Shinichi's eyes float down and nothing but a sigh leaves his cracked lips.

He doubts she heard him because the gentle touch leaves him, and he's feeling cold with nothing but a mantra on his lips.

"I have to. I have to."

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Past the Doyle novels he's memorized and the notes about various poisons, Shinichi finds a door hidden in the dark crevices of his mind.

It's a small door; he has to crawl to get through it.

It's small, dark, cold—perfect.

(Every day, it's the same thing. His mouth is swollen and his hair is pulled. Tears streak down his cheeks and he inhales—breathe, Shinichi, _breathe_.)

When he gets on his knees, he sees the heavy lock and the tiny key.

(_"Good boy, keep it up. Swallow everything— that's it, Kudou-kun, just like the dog you are—"_)

Shinichi disappears into the dark space, wraps himself up, knees to his chest.

The door slams behind him.

(He's counting.)

Shinichi leaves the key behind.

(He's waiting.)

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AN: FF net is being kind of weird so if you see errors with the section breaks, please disregard it! It's a bit annoying to fix. ;_; But anyways, as always, please leave a review! Thank you! :D

**-Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	4. just like that, repeat and repeat

AN: Summer is officially here! :D Exams are over! Thank you so much to all the reviews (especially the anon ones that cannot be answered to. ;-; ) Here is another chapter of Beige, thank you for sticking with the story so far!

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Regardless of having no sleep, Shinichi wakes up at eight and begins Saturday by cleaning the entire house.

Vacuum, dust, wash the bed sheets— anything that he puts his hands on needs to be cleaned or shifted somewhere else.

There's a lot of things to do, he tells himself as he rearranges the many vases around the house. Trembling fingers drop one of them—Kaito's roses scatter on the floor along with the million pieces of glass.

Shinichi gets a broom and sweeps up flowers and broken shards.

A part of him wonders why he accidentally dropped it in the first place. He's usually never so clumsy with these things.

(Staying still for a second too long sends chills running up his spine.)

He clenches his hands, knuckles white around the broom handle.

(It's okay, the roses were wilting anyways.)

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.

.

Sunday morning, he sits a foot away from the TV.

It's blaring one of those sappy soap dramas that he doesn't care to pay attention to.

(A girl is absolutely love sick and forced away from her boyfriend because her parents doesn't approve.)

He blinks and it's the afternoon.

(He watches people move across the screen—voices screaming, crying, whispering. In the end, the girl hugs the boy and it seems like she never wants to let go.)

His eyes are burning, cheeks stiff from the tears that have dried half an hour ago.

(There's nothing touching about the cliche love story.)

Shinichi is left staring at a slew of commercials advertising about the new Kamen Yaiba movie coming out.

He doesn't pay attention.

(It was just that they hugged.)

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.

.

There are advantages to living with the internationally infamous Phantom Thief.

For example, learning how to apply makeup—to hide the eye bags and worn shadows, to add a tint of red to pale skin. If he knew how latex works, he could lay some thickness onto the hollows of his cheeks.

(It's not perfect because he's not Kid, or a professional makeup artist. But at least he doesn't look like he's hanging on the brink of death.)

He steps back, closes his eyes, and swallows.

(He doesn't want to open his eyes and look at himself, because—)

Shinichi sees dull blue first before letting his eyes drift across the face of his reflection.

(_"You're not okay, you're not okay, you're not okay—"_)

He's fine.

Shinichi attempts to smile.

It takes a few tries before he musters the energy to lift the corners of his lips.

(That's it. Just like that, breathe, smile, and repeat. This is fine. He'll be okay.)

Within several minutes, he has a confident smirk on his face. He's just as lively as he was a week ago when Kaito left for the trip, just as confident.

(It's Kid's Poker face.)

Shinichi puts the foundation back where he found it, the second shelf of Kaito's cabinet. Black dress shirt and slacks, he's well put together.

(It won't break.)

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.

.

—is what he tells himself when he sees Kaito lugging two large suitcases from the baggage pick-up area.

(Breathe, smile, and repeat.)

Kaito grins when he sees him, "Hey—"

"Welcome back," Shinichi smiles and grabs onto the suitcase the minute Kaito lets go.

(He pretends to not see the slight slump in Kaito's shoulder as his arms fall back to his side—)

"How was the flight?" The suitcase is heavy in his hands, but he pulls it all the same. He ignores the tingle of pain in his legs and hips—he's smiling but breathing through his teeth.

(Don't break your poker face.)

Kaito is walking next to him, a peppy bounce in his step even when he's scoffing, "Terrible. Multiple complications and I was stuck next to a talkative woman the entire flight from LA. You'd be surprised how annoying some people are when they're in a plane—"

Shinichi hums. He's staring ahead at the tiles on the airport floor.

_(Twenty steps down the hall, turn left, walk ten more steps and he's in front of the door.)_

He shudders and it must have been obvious because the suitcase is taken from him and Kaito is staring at him, eyes sharp and blue.

"Shinichi, are you okay?"

He levels the hitch in his breathing before looking Kaito in the eye. He grins, "Yeah, of course."

(Smiling has never been harder.)

.

.

.

Dinner is a strange concept to him because Shinichi forgets to eat.

(But Kaito complained that airplane food sucks, so they're sitting at their kitchen table with instant ramen and miso soup.)

Kaito is talking about something that happened in New York. Something about the musicals in Broadway and the small fabulous magic shows in theaters and dinners.

And about…

_("But I wondered—what would make Kudou-kun scared? What is that one thing that Kudou-kun can't protect with the law he has wrapped around his little finger? What secret is he hiding in that heart? Or rather, __who_—?")

About…

(Shinichi doesn't notice that Kaito has stopped talking and is staring at him—past him.)

A hand hits the table and the sound makes Shinichi drop his spoon into the porcelain bowl.

(The spoon splashes warm liquid onto his hand, but he winces like it's boiling water.)

"You don't look all right," Kaito says, placing his chopsticks on the bowl. He steeples his fingers and peers at Shinichi with a slight tilt of his head. "…What's the matter?"

Shinichi looks down at the murky liquid, eyes tracing the faint tofu. "I'm… I'm not hungry."

Kaito raises a brow and Shinichi feels his eyes roaming his face, lingering a tad bit too long on his cheeks and eyes. He breathes in, "Shinichi—"

"I'm going to shower," he says quickly. He pushes the bowl away from him and toward Kaito.

He leaves the table without lifting his eyes from the floor.

Shinichi runs to the bathroom, half-way there, he has to put a hand over his mouth.

The bathroom door is shut and locked before he empties his dinner into the toilet again—

Shinichi hunches over the toilet bowl, eyes watery, lips swollen and moist.

(_"Swallow everything and don't make a mess."_)

He hurls up whatever is left in his stomach.

Nothing but bile burns up his throat and drips into the water.

There is a loud tap at the door and Shinichi startles; he holds his breath in.

"Shinichi? Are you okay? What's wrong?" On the other side of the glass door, he sees the blurred shape of Kaito—

("_You're not okay, you're not okay, you're not—"_)

"Shinichi?"

Another knock and Kaito's hand is hovering over the door handle— it's locked, but he _is _a thief. "Shinichi-? I'm going to come in—"

"No—!"

The sharp rasp makes the blur freeze.

(Don't break your poker face.)

Shinichi clears his throat and tries again.

"I'm okay—I'll…I'm going to take a shower."

.

.

.

It's now a routine that Shinichi showers sharply at 4:00 pm, and takes more of them whenever a ghostly chill climbs on his skin.

(This is his third shower.)

He's finished two soap bars in the past few days and scrubs himself until his hands turn raw and bright red.

Shinichi stands under hot water, head tilted up to the shower head.

It's scalding but cleansing at the same time.

He stands there for half an hour…maybe an hour.

An hour and a half most probably.

He leaves the bathroom with a towel draped around him and his damp clothes.

Shinichi still feels dirty.

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.

Shinichi finds Kaito sleeping in one of his large armchairs in his room.

He's jet-lagged from the flight so Shinichi can't blame him. But by the look of things, Kaito had intended to wait out Shinichi's long shower but miserably failed.

It's eleven nearing twelve now. It's been a week since Shinichi's properly had sleep. He feels the accumulating exhaustion seeping into his bones, every piece of his being screams for rest.

(Shinichi doesn't need to pretend anymore because Kaito is here. The nightmares will be gone because Kaito is here.)

He sits next to Kaito, it's a tight fit but comfortable. He leans into the warm body that smells faintly like mint.

Shinichi weaves Kaito's hand into his, palm warm and slightly calloused. Kaito responds with something like a sleepy murmur.

(The nightmares will be gone because Kaito is here.)

Shinichi, for the first time in that week, tries to have a dreamless sleep.

.

.

.

The dreams haunt him anyways.

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.

He jolts up in the middle of the night with his heart hammering in his chest.

He tries to catch his breath.

(Shinichi stares, eyes wide, at the black figures stalking around the corners of his room. He's paralyzed and can only watch with a scream lodged in his throat— _stop, please, leave him alone. Leave him alone—_)

Shinichi sleeps—doesn't sleep.

(Yamada hides in the shadow of the curtains, watching. Just _watching_. A knuckle to his mouth and his smile is stained beige and black.)

His conscious weaves somewhere between his nightmares and the darkness of his room. And Shinichi can't tell if his eyes are open or closed, if he's dreaming or not.

(Shadows, resembling fingers, slither around Kaito's throat.)

Shinichi clenches his eyes and counts the loud beats in his ears. _The nightmares will be gone because Kaito is here,_ he whispers under his breath, because if he says it enough then—

(Yamada laughs.

The shadow starts to eat away Kaito's body.

Shinichi screams but there's no sound.)

He's clamping onto Kaito's hand all the same.

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.

Kaito wakes up first because he's thirteen hours behind in New York Time.

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.

At six in the morning, sunlight slowly filters through the curtains.

A soft cushion under his head eases the pounding in his temples and there are layers of warmth piled on him. He feels warm and closed in.

(The weekend is over.)

The relief pulls Shinichi's eyelids close. He slips back into brief darkness because he knows he has one more hour before he has to get ready for school.

(It's Monday again.)

He twists to sleep on his side, the tension slowly releasing its hold on his muscles. It's a comfort that he hasn't felt so long—

(It's Monday again.)

Shinichi bolts upright. He stares at the sea of bed sheets that he's swimming in and he sighs—

(It's Monday.)

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.

Kaito is downstairs making breakfast.

There are two empty plates on the table, a plate of toast and a slice of butter held in a dish. Kaito's back is turned as he makes scrambled eggs and sausages.

"You're up early," Shinichi remarks and he slides into one of the chairs with a prick of pain in his side. He picks at the metal fork laid on a strip of napkin.

Kaito glances at the plate near his elbow before emptying the eggs onto it.

"You should be in bed." His tone isn't sharp but Shinichi flinches anyways.

Kaito turns, plate of food in his hands. There's a downward crease in Kaito's eyebrow as he places the food in front of Shinichi and sits across him. "You didn't have enough sleep last night."

He's studying Shinichi, his movements, the twitch in his shoulder when Kaito hits the mark dead center.

Shinichi feels completely unwrapped, exposed, under the gaze.

(He knows, he _knows _Kaito has a lot of questions.)

Shinichi picks up the fork and spears a piece of egg on the plate. He doesn't lift his eyes but shovels it into his mouth, teeth scraping against the metal. The egg is painful to chew and swallow.

He grabs the toast and stuffs his mouth with a couple large bites.

Kaito's eyes turn into a slight glare— but the moment passes over when Shinichi meets his eyes.

He muffles his lie, "I'm feeling fine."

(But Kaito doesn't ask.)

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.

He knew he shouldn't have eaten so quickly.

Shinichi finds a public restroom on the way to school.

He gets to school at 8:15.

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.

At school, he counts his breath because it's the same—

(Good boy, come here, swallow, repeat—)

It's after five and he's home. The door is open and Kaito is making dinner that Shinichi will hardly touch.

(Breathe, smile, and repeat. His poker face can't break.)

.

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Kaito puts food on his bowl as usual.

"Sorry, I had a snack before coming home," he says when he refuses the piece of chicken.

Kaito smiles paper thin, breath brittle. "I see."

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"Help me," Shinichi says before he thinks, and he hasn't made a mark on the crisp folder paper in front of him.

Kaito looks up from his textbook, pencil in his hand and he's drawing a layout of a room with dark dots littering it. His finished homework juts out from between the other page.

"What's wrong?"

_("Everything.") _

Shinichi inhales, and blinks down to the physics book propped open in front of him.

_("There's someone who does things to me— It hurts. Make it stop. The dreams, the nightmares, this— Please, please make it stop, Kaito—") _

Instead, he points at the third problem.

"Here."

Kaito stares at him for a little longer and releases a small sigh. Something resembling a smile spreads over his lips. "All right…"

(Kaito can't know.)

.

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.

"Shinichi."

He has his heart in his throat and he's stepping away. Hands on a random book pulled from one of his library shelves, Shinichi ignores the way Kaito is peering at him.

"Is there something you would like me to know?"

He flinches away from the hand that is reaching out to touch his shoulder. Shinichi scoffs like the Shinichi he used to be.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

_(Help me._)

Kaito chews his lower lip. "You just seem really distracted—" He's carefully picking his words, eyes darting to the side and he's staring hard at the bookshelf. He ushers Shinichi to the hall before asking—"Did something happen when I was gone?"

"No, it's just cases and things," Shinichi lies under his breath. He turns away from him, rifling through the pages of the book.

Arms drape around his waist and Shinichi tenses at the touch. Kaito tucks his head into the crook of his neck, breathing shallow but steady.

_(Yamada leers over him, hand twisting the bone in Shinichi's arm, staining purple bruises on white skin. He breathes—) _

"Don't hide from me—"

(_"—Kudou-kun."_)

The book drops from his hand and Kaito's breath lifts from his neck and to the side of his head.

"…Shinichi?"

He elbows Kaito back and squirms away to pick up the book. "Sorry, I have things to finish."

"…Well, I'll…"

Kaito lets the words fade into a breath. He takes a few steps back and Shinichi hears light thuds stepping out from the study room.

(_Help me_. _It hurts, make it stop._)

"Shut up," Shinichi whispers to the voices in his head, but it doesn't keep the tears from falling.

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AN: Thank you so much for the very thoughtful reviews! They are really lovely to read and a great encouragement.

We hope you enjoyed this chapter~! Until the next update!

**-Yoyoboyo Inc.**


	5. shattered into a million pieces of glass

**AN:** Many apologies! Been very busy the past few weeks… orz.

**Warning again!;** It's a Yamada chapter again, so beware of noncon again.

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Shinichi finds Kaito sitting at the dinner table, breakfast made but getting cold.

Kaito's eyes are dull and he's gazing at the kitchen cupboards, expression blank.

He's thinking.

Shinichi makes an effort to do something, to break the thick tension in the air. After chewing his breakfast thoughtfully, he offers Kaito a bitten piece of toast on a plate.

Kaito smiles, but he's thinking.

.

.

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[Ne, Ran-chan. Do you know if anything happened to Shinichi lately?]

[…mm, no, not that I know of. I thought he was tired from solving cases…?]

[Ah, he did say something about that…]

[Or…it could be that he was missing you! :3]

[Haha, maybe… thanks!]

[No problem~]

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"Good afternoon, Kudou-kun. How was class?"

The door is closed behind him before Shinichi falls back. Breathing harsh and face flushed, his mask crumbles into pieces.

(It's throbbing, hurting—Shinichi bites down on his lips. He's nearing the edge—)

"Beautiful performance as usual in Japanese literature," Yamada drawls. There's that quirk on his lip that Shinichi sees in his dreams. "You read the passages without so much a tremble in your voice. Shall I reward you?"

Shinichi doesn't say anything but swallow a whimper.

(It hurts to breathe because he _needs_ to—)

"Let go," Yamada cooes, eyes watching the fever settle on Shinichi's pale cheeks. "You've been holding it all along, go ahead."

Shinichi clenches his eyes shut.

(Renewed wetness suffocates his cock before oozing down his inner thighs. He shudders at the cold and the warm—)

Yamada smiles, breathless. "Good… good."

A steady tremble settles on Shinichi's shoulder and he walks forward, knees shaking, pants soiled, wet and warm.

"Please…let me go home…" His voice cracks.

Yamada raises a hand and Shinichi sees the large bulge tenting from the front of his pants. Shinichi hides a grimace. "Come here, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi stares as he watches him, mouth parting to breathe. Few steps around the desk and he stands in front of the chair.

He starts sinking down to his knees before meaty fingers grab his arm—another bruise to-be. Shinichi flinches.

"On my lap. And clothes _off_," Yamada whispers in his ear, hoarse and heavy, breath laced with a hint of canned beer.

It hits him hard and Shinichi stands there, stunned.

(This isn't routine.)

The hard grip on his arm lets go.

The cold air is like a shock to his body when Shinichi slides both blazer and shirt to the floor, revealing a network of toys taped securely around his nipples and–

"Oh, tsk."

Yamada'shand reaches to cup him between the legs, the front of his pants are dark and wet, right through the seams of his zipper. Shinichi nearly buckles over. "What a naughty boy, making a mess of your pants."

He grips him through the cloth, fingers squeezing him hard. "What do you have to say to that?"

"I'm sorry, sensei, I didn't mean to—" Shinichi chokes out a phrase that he's come to memorize.

Yamada exhales, satisfied, before his hands settle on the white skin of Shinichi's hip. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls—

Shinichi is cold and feverish at the same time when the cloth chafes over his erection. Electricity spins through his veins and makes him shudder.

"Sit."

Wires tangle and wrap around his thighs, it takes Shinichi a few, hesitant seconds to straddle Yamada's lap, thighs spread apart and hands gripping his broad shoulders.

"Good boy," Yamada says, breath warm against Shinichi's collarbone. "What a pretty boy."

His skin prickles as Yamada's lips and chin ghost over vibrating patches taped on his chest. Shinichi gasps brokenly when fingers pinch a trail of red skin down his chest. He whimpers when hands give the backside of his thighs a harsh squeeze.

"Sensei, I…" Shinichi fights away the wave of sick pleasure coursing in his veins. "I want to go home."

"Why…?" Yamada's fingernails rake around the individual bones in his spine before dipping down and under. Shinichi's breath tapers into pants. "We barely had our alone time and you want to leave?"

He shoves Yamada back, hands pressing flat against Yamada's chest.

"Get it off. I want to go home."

Shinichi is surprised at the tone he's using—Yamada only arches a brow. He leans close and smiles, teeth pressing under the sharp angle of Shinichi's collarbone.

"Do you now? And why is that?"

A slippery plastic roams up Shinichi's spine, vibrating. His breath hitches because he _knows—_

(This isn't routine.)

"Because a certain _Kuroba_ is there to make you feel better about yourself? So you can confess to him what you've been up to?" he whispers and the loud hum travels down his side and rests under him, under the wire already inside him.

"Why would you _do _that, Kudou-kun?"

He's twisting the head of the vibrator and mashing it against the tight ring of muscles.

"Wait, I—"

Yamada doesn't listen and it's sinking into him, stretching, tearing, and shoving deep. It collides with the buzzing sphere until both are forced up against his prostate.

Shinichi twitches—hot, white pain surges down the veins of every limb. Yamada sneers, teeth hard against the middle of Shinichi's chest.

He tries to pull himself away, but Yamada catches his hips and forces him down until everything's buried and he's gasping with no air.

"Please stop, it hurts, it _hurts—_"

(It's pulled out and shoved back in, resisting the dry friction; the heat and rhythm force Shinichi to _move_.)

Yamada places gentle butterfly kisses on the side of Shinichi's face and grapples his hips until it bruises his bones. Teeth scrape down Shinichi's jaw and bites at the erratic pulse in his throat.

(It'll be _fine _after this, Shinichi tells himself. It's the only thing that ties him to a thread of sanity—the thought of being _fine_.)

With a hard thrust, Shinichi screams, voice fraying and cracking in two.

He comes again, face buried into Yamada's suit, and his cum overflows from the condom wrapped securely around his cock.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Fingers curl around the spent elastic, pinching the band before snapping it harshly—Shinichi's chest tightens as he tries to regain his breath.

His eyes drown in hot tears, forming damp spots on Yamada's suit.

"It'll feel even better tomorrow, Kudou-kun," Yamada says. Shinichi tenses when he thrusts the vibrator back in with fast and deep strokes. "With you riding _me _instead."

(No, no, _no—)_

Shinichi draws in quick and shallow breaths, arms shoving, pushing—get away, _get away—_

"God, no, please–" Shinichi gasps, voice rising, head shaking. "Please—anything not that. I'll do anything—"

Yamada smiles and he kisses Shinichi's cheek before licking the corner of his mouth. "Shh, don't cry, don't cry—today we're just getting you ready."

Shinichi's face turns feverish.

(He'll be fine, he'll be fine after this—)

The skin stretching around the vibrator is moist, red, and raw.

It buries deep and pushes far, and Shinichi screams in hoarse whispers and chokes—

_(Kaito, help me, Kaito, please, please—)_

Waves subside into tingles, and Shinichi becomes limp. His next breath is a sob, tattered and uneven–

"Home—"

Water clings to his eyelashes.

"Please let me go home…"

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.

.

The little door in Shinichi's mind is torn down.

And he is dragged out, kicking and screaming, by the dark fears in his mind.

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.

The door slams loud after him and he's running to the bathroom.

(He doesn't realize that Kaito is just in the kitchen, dinner finished but wrapped under plastic.)

Shinichi grips his arms, scratching at skin through his uniform.

( So stuffy, so itchy, so dirty—)

He runs into the bathroom, glass door nearly shattering when he shoves it closed. He tears his clothes off, fingers clawing buttons apart. He leaves his uniform scattered on the floor.

Shinichi stumbles into the shower his trembling hand twisting the knob. The metal screeches—

Scalding water spits at him and slides down his shoulder. His skin burns.

His legs give out and he falls.

Shinichi reaches for the soap and he grinds it hard against his skin.

_(_The smell doesn't come off, will never come off_.) _

Angry purple and blue splotches cover his body. Shinichi rubs at it with the depleting bar of soap—it only makes his skin red and irritated.

"Get off, come on—" He urges under a short breath.

(The marks are ugly and deep to the marrow.)

He ditches the bar of soap and begins digging his fingernails in, drawing bright red lines over the patches of discolored skin.

_Tap–_

"Shinichi?"

He freezes and then tears at his skin harder—

"What's wrong? Shinichi—"

"…Nothing," Shinichi manages to say loudly over the water drumming against the shower tiles.

There is a pause and Shinichi nearly thought he walked away—"Shinichi—"

"It's fine, really…"

Shinichi glares at his arms and legs, bright streaks sends fire up his arm.

"Are you sure—? Are you feeling sick or—" The tap on the glass is accompanied by a slight jiggle of the door handle—

"_God damn it, I'm just tired, okay?!"_

Shinichi breathes, lower lip trembling, and body curling in. The weight on the door handle lifts and floats away without so much an answer.

The water stabs his back like broken pieces of glass.

Shinichi sighs, eyes burning as he shut them.

He doesn't say anything to Kaito that night.

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.

Outside his mind's door, reinforced with a few scraps of pride and sanity, there's a voice.

"What's scaring you?"

"I don't know," he responds and then tucks his head back into the space between his knees.

It's dark and quiet; he's alone and that's what matters.

It's all Shinichi needs to be safe.

(That's what he thinks and tries to tell himself.)

"You can't be locked in here forever." There is a knock and the voice is clearer and familiar.

He shivers, fingers gripping his arm. It's cold. "…I want to."

_(It's safe.)_

"No one's going to hurt you anymore." There's a clink and Shinichi thinks he picked up the key from the floor.

"How do you know?" he whispers, voice hoarse and like sandpaper against his throat. "How do you know that?"

Pause.

"Open the door, I'll show you something."

Shinichi takes a while but when he does, he sees Kid crouching in front of him with a soft smile on his face, the white of his suit bright even in the shadow.

"He won't hurt you anymore. He's gone, Shinichi."

There is an ominous clink as he raises his hands and cups the side of Shinichi's face, gloved finger smoothing across his cheek.

He's handcuffed.

"I've been arrested."

.

.

.

**AN:** Thank you so much for reading! Please be kind and leave behind any thoughts! All reviews are appreciated~ Until next time!

**-Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	6. wrapped in a haze

**AN: **Hello! Sorry for the lack of updates in the past month. Summer has indeed come but so did additional classes. Hope you enjoy this chapter—despite it's disturbing content!

**WARNING: **more…Yamada-noncon. I'm extremely sorry for those who are absolutely disgusted by Yamada—because I am too, and I have a strange talent for writing him so creepy…

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.

He wakes up with a start; damp, cold, and shivering all over.

Shinichi sits up, sheets tumbling off him. Breath rapid, he sits and tries to collect the few strands of calm that he has left.

(He remembers the dream vividly—Kid, handcuffed, arrested.)

He struggles to the bathroom, takes three steps from the bed, and his legs collapse under him.

(It's Yamada's fail-safe—Shinichi knows. It's the leash roped around him neck, pulling him like a dog.)

Shinichi crashes.

(That in the event if Yamada is ever arrested, Kid—Kaito's secret—will go down with him. All this just to satisfy a sick man's hunger.)

He spends a few moments on the floor, staring at particularly nothing as his mind wraps around the pain and the scattered memories of his nightmare.

(Shinichi had exhausted most of the nights' hours thinking of a solution.)

It hurts, so tired, so tired…

(He still hasn't found a way out.)

.

.

.

Breakfast is nothing but thick silence and tension.

Shinichi nibbles at his bread, pretending to take bites but eats almost none at all. Bits of crumbs fall onto the porcelain plate as his coffee is left untouched next to it.

Kaito stares at his phone, brows dipped, he doesn't blink. His thumb swipes against the touchscreen. He's distracted and ignores breakfast.

Neither of them eats.

.

.

.

Shinichi finds himself pinching the black cloth of Kaito's uniform several minutes before they leave for school.

"I…—last night, I was a bit off."

It's a strange form of apology, (one shakily said), but Shinichi deadpans it anyways because Kaito knows what he means.

_("It'll feel even better tomorrow, Kudou-kun, with you riding me instead.")_

The voice echoes and he clenches his sleeve harder.

Kaito gives him an apologetic simper. Shinichi avoids his eyes and burns holes into the floor.

"It's okay," Kaito says at length, hand brushing up Shinichi's arm and lightly gripping his shoulder. He misses the slight wince and sharp inhale of breath. "Just tell me if there's anything bothering you."

Shinichi draws a breath to speak—

("Kaito, I don't want you to go. Stay with me—")

—and doesn't.

He lets his sleeve go.

.

.

.

"Ne, Hakuba, was there some kind of huge murder case going on while I was away? Maybe a serial murderer still on the loose?"

"Hm? No…not that I know of. I don't specialize in murder. Why do you ask?"

"…it's Shinichi. He's acting weird…distracted."

"Kudou? …huh. Come to think of it, I didn't see him at the station last week."

"…really…"

.

.

.

Yamada catches him in the hall three minutes before school starts.

"Today will be different Kudou-kun," Yamada whispers, his fingers run up and down the curve between Shinichi's butt when no one is looking.

"I want this to be special, just you and me. Meet me after school. Don't be late."

The sickening clench in his stomach only worsens.

.

.

.

It's the first period of class.

Face against the cool wooden desk, he hides behind a textbook.

And he dreams.

Shinichi dreams that he's on a bed with Yamada.

Thighs spread apart, eyes wet and blinded by a haze. He's gripping onto Yamada's shoulders, hips moving in a frantic rhythm, and it's thick and hot—

"You love it, don't you?" Yamada whispers into his neck, Shinichi hears a click and he knows even if he doesn't see.

(That Kid is tied down with black shadows crawling over him. His eyes are fluttered shut from pain, face ashened, with the barrel of a shotgun pointed his way—)

"Tell me—" Yamada grunts. "You slut."

The gun cocks, Shinichi shudders, eyes flickering to Kid's face—

(I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—)

"Y-Yes, I love it—"

A manic grin and the finger crooks.

"You—are a terrible liar."

Bang.

.

.

.

Shinichi jolts awake in his seat far back in the corner, books dropping to the floor from the sudden shift of his desk.

No one notices, looks, or says anything.

(That's quite all right, he tells himself. No one needs to know how disgusting he's come to be.)

Shinichi presses a hand to his face and hides a quiet sob.

.

.

.

The promise hovers near his ears and whispers with every tick of the clock.

_("Today will be different, Kudou-kun."; "…special, just you and me."; "Don't be late…") _

Shinichi hears nothing but white noise in his ears and the tick, tock, _tick_ that itches the skin behind his neck. He reaches to scratch and the hum becomes louder.

(The teacher talks but he doesn't hear, only hears the chanting of—)

It splits his head in half.

(_Dog. Slut. Whore__.__)_

Shinichi lays his head on the textbook and shields his ears. There's a pounding loud in the back of his head, in his brain, and the world weaves in and out of focus from what little he could see.

(Black to beige to black again— the classroom is drenched in dried sepia before plunging into darkness.)

Faces pulse in his mind. Yamada, Kid, Yamada, Kaito—

His body is numb and limp against the desk. He's tired, cursed with dreams, nightmares, voices. He's just so, so tired but—

(He starts to count.

One hour, thirty two minutes, five seconds—

four secon—

three-

tw—)

.

.

.

Shinichi wakes up to muffled voices as the world swims into focus, albeit soft and blurred around the edges.

His head throbs against a rigid cushion that smells of cleaned laundry and a touch of sterile. The sheets are stiff and cold.

"I…parents…not here… live with…cousin."

Where is he…?

"…all right…but feverish… not enough…rest…"

Who is that—?

"…take him… sorry for…"

Curtains shift and it's Kaito that he sees.

"Shinichi—"

He mouths something before darkness reaches to grab Shinichi and pulls him under.

.

.

.

It's the loud thud of Shinichi falling out of his bed that has Kaito rushing in.

"Shinichi, what the—" He helps Shinichi up by the arms and pulls him back onto the mattress. "What on earth are you doing—"

"School ended," Shinichi mutters, eyes glued on the clock sitting on the bedside table—three pm.

(He's late.)

"I'm…going back."

Kaito sputters. "Shinichi, you need to _rest_." He snags his wrist and keeps him anchored against the bed.

"I have to go back," Shinichi responds, eyes dry and staring hard at the ground. He tries to wrestle away, but the grip on his wrist tightens.

(Hurts…)

"But you passed out in class! You have a fever—"

"And I'm fine now," Shinichi growls and finally pulls his hand away. He pushes himself off the bed— legs and hips screaming in pain, mind blanking and washing black—

"You're not."

Kaito's voice is a mix between worry and something else. "What's so important that you have to go back now?"

("You are," he wants to say, but the words fall back down his throat, and he swallows, and swallows and—)

"It's nothing."

Shinichi brushes him away, turning on his heels to leave.

He inhales when a hand grabs his arm and jerks him back—when Shinichi turns, Kaito is glaring, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "What… is wrong with you?"

Shinichi returns the glare with venom in his words, "It's _not_ your problem."

He yanks his arm back, skin tingling from the past bruises, and he walks out.

("And it really isn't," he whispers to the Kid in his mind, fingertips dragging around the cold, bullet-torn skin and the metal cuffs around his wrists.)

The door slams loud behind him.

.

.

.

"What are we ever going to do with you, Kudou-kun?"

(He's late— but he's there, out of breath, disheveled.)

A finger traces down Shinichi's face, along his jaw, and tips his chin up. Shinichi stands rigid, hands clenched. Yamada tsks him with a shake in his head.

(The minutes stretch and there are black spots seeping into his vision. One spot, two, three, four—)

"I value punctuality and will not tolerate tardiness."

Fingers wrap around his throat and Yamada's thumb draws circles around the faintest touch of red on his skin.

"Did you know how long I've been waiting, Kudou-kun? I don't like waiting."

Shinichi shuts his eyes and shivers; he manages to find a small voice in his throat— "No, I'm sor—"

When he blinks, he feels pain blossom in the back of his head where it connected with the hard surface of Yamada's desk. He gasps as fingers sink into his throat.

(It'll turn black, blue, and purple later—)

Yamada's leering, shadows black on his face— "Did you really think you could run away?"

"I wasn't trying to—" He chokes and he swears the bones in his neck are cracking under the pressure. He's breathing fast and erratic, a jolt of hot pain shooting from his neck, down his spine, and to his legs.

(It all hurts so much.)

Lips swollen, sheened white, he's breathing apologies with the little air he can breathe— "Sensei, please, please, I'm sorry—"

"You seem to forget something," Yamada growls through his teeth. His smile is hard teeth, wide, and strained. He leans closer, breath falling heavy over Shinichi's pale face.

"_You_ decide what happens to Kuroba-kun."

He lets go and Shinichi swallows air, the back of his head falling onto the desk with a dizzying crack. Yamada's fingers hook into his green tie and tugs it softly and out of his suit. Shinichi jerks—

"So what do you say, hm?"

(Just do this, do this for Kaito.)

His eyes are dry as he spreads his legs apart, trembling hands working to unbuckle his belt.

"…Good boy."

.

.

.

"Spread your legs."

Yamada hides behind a small camcorder, breath heavy, beady eyes trained on the little screen that is burning Shinichi's exposed body into digital memory.

Shinichi sits on the desk, pants having crumpled to the ground a while ago.

(Just pretend Yamada isn't there— hiding in the shadows, small, black eyes watching every twitch of his body— just pretend that he's alone and there's no one else to watch..)

Shinichi pushes his legs wide, and he can't help but feel exposed and scrutinized under the lens of a black video camera.

Shame burns down his body and pools into a heat coiling in the pit of his stomach—

"Touch yourself," Yamada breathes, tongue between his teeth. "Don't hold anything back, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi hesitates before shaky fingers trail down his chest like feathers, pressing against his white dress shirt, and drawing light circles around hardened nipples.

(It's routine, he tells himself, but he can't believe his own lie.)

He lets a hand drift between his legs. His fingers, cold and shivering, wrap around the head of his erection.

"More, do more," Yamada says with a greasy smile pulling his cheeks. He edges closer, camera coming, camera focusing.

(He tells himself he's alone, in his bathroom ridding himself of teenage hormones, but there's a name on his cracked lips and it's hard to breathe past the strangled moans—)

He thrusts slowly into his hand, the skin slick and smooth. Shinichi breathes steadily— tries to—but there's a hitch in his breath he can't smooth over.

(He's alone, he's alone—)

"Kuroba Kaito," Yamada says and _that_ snaps Shinichi out of his haze and sends a thrill quivering down his cock.

(And in the fog of his mind, he sees Kaito's blue, blue eyes where the camera lens are. Kaito's hands are on him, massaging and whipsers sweet nothings into his ears—)

"Kaito…" he breathes, clutching his eyes shut. His hands clench around him tighter, faster, in firm, long pulls. "Ah, ah, _ah_—"

Yamada's smiles, but his eyes have a downward tension of a glare. His finger traces Shinichi's swollen lips before dipping through, between teeth and against his slack tongue.

(Kaito kisses him and he tastes like salt.)

He gasps, tongue tracing over Yamada's knuckles.

Eyes flicker open, blue eyes like dark discs.

.

.

.

Face against the desk, hands behind his back.

(Reality hits him like a crushing weight just as his face is pressed against the desk, his hips pulled back and thighs spread with calloused, sweaty hands—)

Yamada sneaks between his legs, nudging his thighs open, and his fingers skate down the crevice between—

He hears a soft beep.

Shinichi twitches at the sound— the camcorder.

"Our precious moments, Kudou-kun," he says and then it's _wet._ Fingers spread him open, dragging at the pursed opening. It's raw and red, sensitive to the touch— Yamada scrapes his blunt nails across the stretch of skin.

(Shinichi can't breathe or think in the pain and swallowing black.)

"I want it remembered."

Yamada holds a breath and slides a wet finger in, breaching past the tight rings of muscles. Shinichi's breath hitches, back arching.

He slips in another one and this time, thick fingers push in until they're buried, knuckles deep.

Shinichi chokes at the spark winding in the pit of his stomach.

(It hurts— feel goods— hurts—)

He pushes back, hips forced to ride the rhythm of the fingers — a tongue is flat against the back of his neck. Teeth sinks hard into the nape of his neck and Shinichi lets out a startled cry—and struggles, chest crushed against the desk.

"You love it, don't you?" And the reminders of his nightmare floods into his mind, Shinichi's heart drums in his ribcage.

(He can hear Kid breathing hard in the shadows, with a bullet hole where his heart used to be, but he's still breathing, barely.

"You love it, don't you?"

"Y-yes, I love—"

"You're a terrible liar—")

There's a vicious thrust, blunt fingernails hooking and scraping down his insides. It mashes into his prostrate and repeats—

"Sensei, it hurts, it hurts—" Shinichi shudders brokenly and he's squirming away. Yamada holds him fast against the table. The sharp pain chases away the voices until they melt into a puddle, and he can only hear—

("—don't hurt him, don't hurt him, please—")

"Shh, you're fine, Kudou-kun."

A wet suck and the fingers are pulled free. A heavy clack and the camcorder sits on the table, pointing at him— them.

He hears the thick squish of oil spread over moist skin and a groan as Yamada fists himself stiff with lube and precum. Shinichi shuts his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose.

(Pretend, pretend, pretend, you'll be fine after this—)

A hand braces his hips and he tenses as Yamada's cock presses up against his entrance—

No condom, just naked, hot skin.

He flinches away and Yamada grabs him back.

"Don't fight it, Kudou-kun." Yamada strokes his chest with slippery fingers, squeezing his nipples between fingernails— Shinichi chokes on a whimper.

Moist hands grab his hip, a rough thrust and a deep groan in his ears—

(He's split in half, then folded over and over—)

Yamada is half-buried and sinking deeper. "Oh, you're so tight, Kudou-kun—" he groans, pulling out and slamming back in.

Shinichi screams.

Yamada sets a frantic pace, grabbing Shinichi's arms as a rein, dragging him back, hands wringing the color out of his arms. "Fuck, Kudou-kun, fuck—"

Tears slide from Shinichi's eyes as hot white pain trails a line of fire up his spine. Something sticky floods in him, so hot, so tired—

(Folded over and over again—)

.

.

.

(Yamada does it again.)

Shinichi's on his back, the weight of his body crushes his arms, thighs up with cum leaking between his thighs. He shakes his head, "Please— no more, I can't—"

(He does it again.)

He's moved onto Yamada's lap, legs spread and he's falling to gravity before pushing himself up again. He sits on top of Yamada's length before sinking down to take everything, deep and suffocating.

A fog covers his eyes, wraps around his head in a blend of pain and pleasure until Shinichi can't see or hear—and he just lets it happen.

(And again—)

He just lets it happen.

.

.

.

**AN: ** Thanks for reading! Thank you everyone for the reviews in the past chapter! Hope you enjoyed the chapter~ Until the next update!

-**Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	7. split in half and bleeding all over

**AN: **I decided to put this out earlier than usual but only because this is a rather short chapter. I have an important announcement at the very end, sort of like a very long-winded kind of thing. (And it will be another long wait until the next chapter.) ^^;

Anyways, please enjoy this chapter!

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.

.

It takes him twice as long to walk home.

He's walking, limping, his bag on the other shoulder to make him look remotely normal.

Few people glance his way as he trudges through the darkness of the streets. No one pays attention to him, he's just as important as the next faceless stranger on the sidewalk.

(With every step, a knife cuts into his hip and saws at bone again and again.)

He's at the gate of his house and sees the yellow glow of the lights from the rooms outline the windows.

Shinichi inhales, wipes his eyes, and picks up the pieces of his broken mask. He fixes himself—straightens his crumpled uniform, combs back his hair—before pushing open the metal gate.

(He can't break in front of Kaito—_never_.)

.

.

.

Once Shinichi walks through the house door, he senses something _wrong_.

There's no dinner on the kitchen table.

But Kaito is sitting there—his back to him but not very far away. His shoulders are rigid and he's been drumming his fingers against the surface.

When he hears Shinichi's hand tap against the wall, Kaito inhales.

"It's nearly seven, if you weren't at the station, where the hell were you?"

Kaito doesn't look at him. He toys with something small and round. He's rolling it and rolling it between his fingers—he magics it away before brushing a hand through his unruly hair.

He turns to give Shinichi a look. "Care to give an explanation?"

(He can't break in front of Kaito—)

Shinichi grins nervously, voice leveled— "There was something at school—"

A harsh slam on the table makes Shinichi jump. The chair screeches back under his weight and Kaito stands, fists clenched at his side.

"_Really?_ Just _something_ at school? You fainted earlier today, you have a fever, you _needed_ rest—" He reaches Shinichi in three strides— "And you went back anyway for _something_?"

"I had to—"

Kaito's eyes are a desperate blue hiding behind his temper. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" He comes close enough to cup Shinichi's cheek, fingers smearing— "Foundation. Blush—"

Shinichi avoids his eyes and retreats from his touch. His back hits the wall and his bones scream. "I—"

"Shinichi, what the hell happened to you? _Why_ aren't you telling me what's going on—?"

A quirk pulls Shinichi's lips up slightly. "What are you talking about? Nothing is—"

Kaito glares.

(His mask is close to cracking in half.)

He shudders when a hand pins the wall next to him; a shadow falls over Kaito's face. Jaws taut, he has a thin frown on his lips. "You are _terrible_ at lying, Shinichi."

(A pain splits down his forehead, and it's hot, dark, and memories again.)

He shudders and staggers back, wishing that the wall would swallow him whole and keep him there—anything but this.

(Kaito can't know, can't know the demon he's hiding.)

Shinichi shuts his eyes tight, counts to three, and attempts to calm his short breath.

It doesn't work.

"I'm not—" His voice is shrinking. "I'm not lying, nothing happened, it's just—"

"It _is_ something," Kaito continues, a growl in his throat. Shinichi flinches. "You're killing yourself like this—with all the damn secrecy. I'm worried—"

(Please go away.)

"Stop bothering me—" he mutters, voice fraying and he's slipping.

"Shinichi, please—" Kaito's hand grips his arm and this time, Shinichi yelps—

Kaito freezes and lets go.

"…Shinichi?"

He shivers, glaring at the floor and pulls himself back, hand on his arm. The pain subsides in tingles.

"What…" Kaito is breathless as he reaches for him. With a firm grip on Shinichi's wrist, he starts pushing the sleeve up—

(No, he can't see, he _can't_—)

"S-Stop—" Shinichi's voice is weak as he tries to shove Kaito away—white skin with clusters of purple and scarlet. His wrists are bright red with thin streaks of blood peeking under torn flesh.

(Too late—)

"These…" Kaito exhales, face blank. His fingertips trace the red skin and patches of color. He looks up at Shinichi. "… what are these."

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, and the mantra— (He can't know, Kaito _can't_ know)—drills into the back of his head. There's a tremor in his voice, a watery tremble. "I—I fell…down."

Something in Kaito snaps, and the vice grip on his wrist is clamping down hard, Shinichi swallows a startled cry. "The hell—you _can't_ fall and get bruises like these!"

"I did—" Shinichi shrinks back, eyes darting everywhere and at anything except Kaito. Kaito notices the tremble in his shoulder and loosens his grasp. "I fell—I did."

(Please just leave me alone—)

"Did someone…" Kaito inhales, his breath hitching. His eyes fall to Shinichi's wrist, his bruised arm.

He's quiet. "…is someone hurting you?"

_("There's someone who does things to me— It hurts. Make it stop. The dreams, the nightmares, this— Please, please make it stop, Kaito—")_

Shinichi swallows, head spinning, he musters the energy to raise his hand and push Kaito away. "That's ridiculous—how… could anyone be…hurting me?"

(It's hard to lie to him when everything is just so _wrong_—)

His voice fades into a weak tremble. Shinichi clamps his mouth shut, and chews the inside of his cheek. "Just… don't bother me, okay?"

Kaito lets his hand go and Shinichi struggles to walk past him.

(Every step is a jolt of pain, a million knives carving his skin—)

He leaves Kaito staring blankly after him.

.

.

.

He spends an hour in the bathroom and Shinichi rubs his skin raw and sensitive.

He leaves the shower and although he wrapped himself with mountains of towels, he can't stop himself from shaking.

.

.

.

Shinichi has his face buried in his arms, back pressed to the door.

His room is dark, it's cold and quiet, but his skin burns on fire. No voices haunt him here and he thinks about anything and everything.

He's alone and that's what matters.

(It's all Shinichi needs to feel safe.)

There's a knock and Shinichi feels tremors shake the bones in his spine. He flinches and grips his arms, nails clawing. He's cold, hot, cold at the same time.

"Shinichi…?"

He doesn't answer, just squeezes his eyes tighter in the swirling white noise and wishes everything to go away, wishes for sleep, for silence, for relief.

"Shinichi…" It's a softer sigh and he hears the voice clearer and familiar. "Let me in, please."

He doesn't answer.

"… What's scaring you?" Kaito asks, voice a defeated whisper. "Why won't you tell me?"

_("I don't know.")_

"You can't lock yourself in there forever." Another knock, light but desperate against the wood.

_("…I want to.")_

"Please, Shinichi? Talk to me—no one will hurt you anymore— please?"

"How would you know?" Shinichi whispers, mouthing words into his skin. It's cold, so, so cold. "How would you know that?"

There's a long pause before Kaito sighs.

Shinichi closes his eyes as the screaming silence cloaks him like a sick, but much needed, form of comfort.

.

.

.

"Do you know what happens to bad boys?" Yamada purrs into Shinichi's hair.

He only limply shakes his head, eyes hollow and empty.

"Well, bad boys are punished," he says and takes Shinichi's hand into his own. When he drops his arm, Shinichi finds cold metal stinging the skin under his fingers.

"Bad boys who don't listen," he whispers into the shell of Shinichi's ear. He wraps his arms around Shinichi and covers the gun with Shinichi's fingers and his own. "Are punished."

"Have I been bad, sensei?" Shinichi asks. His hands are brought up and the barrel nudges into the underside of his jaw. The cold metal burns his skin.

"Of course, Kudou-kun.."

_("Suicide, suicide…suicide.")_

There's a soft click, and it burns against the warm pulse in his throat.

"All demons were once angels."

(Sweet, sweet relief—)

_Bang._

.

.

.

Shinichi screams when he wakes.

Cold sweat on his forehead with hot tears spilling down his cheeks. It's dark with a faint light from the window. His room is covered in hard edges of looming shadows.

Shaken, it takes him a few seconds to feel the hand on his arm, the cold floor he's on—

_All demons were once angels._

_Dreams bleed_ into reality.

Shinichi's eyes are trained on the thin outline of a person above him.

"Hey—"

(In his mind's eye, it smiles and asks:_ "Did you think you could really run from me, Kudou-kun?"_)

"No, no—get away, get—" Shinichi screams, voice hoarse and watery. He shoves, hands fisting into the fabric of a cotton shirt and there's a whisper against his head, a tightening grip on his arm.

"It's oka—"

_("Do you know what happens to bad boys?")_

It hurts to breathe. Shinichi thrashes until the figure falls away. He's choking on tears and scrambling back, hands pushing against the stinging floor.

"Get away, leave me alone—"

"What's wrong—? It's me, Shi—"

_("Trying to rebel? How cute."_ Yamada peals in light laughter just from the side. His eyes are glowing red, teeth showing until he bares his fangs. _"Answer me, Kudou-kun. What happens to bad boys?")_

The edge of hard wood cuts into his shoulder and he falls, bones shattering a million times over.

(His glock 22 is in the second drawer of the desk with a full magazine of .40-caliber bullets, he remembers.)

Shinichi searches blindly and there it is—a cool handle clenched in his feverish palm.

_Steady hands, finger on the trigger, and pull_—he'll be gone.

The promise almost has Shinichi's breath level.

_He'll be gone._

("_Well,"_ Yamada hums behind him._ "Bad boys who don't listen are punished."_)

He freezes when there's a breath over him, and a warm touch on his shoulder—

"Shini—?"

(Yamada laughs loudly and it's what makes Shinichi shrink back.)

"Its me! It'll be all—"

The figure surrounds him and it _hurts_ to think or breathe into a cloth that reeks of sweat—

(_"Oh? What is this?"_ Yamada coos, right into the shell of his ear. And there's meaty fingers wrapping around the barrel.)

Shinichi shudders, eyes wet, he opens his mouth to scream but sound doesn't come out. Only a whimper and hiccuped sob, "I don't want to—no more, it hurts, it hurts, sensei, please. Stop—"

(He's scared.)

He moves until he slams back into a corner and there's nowhere else to run but to shoot—

"I don't…want," Shinichi whispers, shaking his head.

The hand reaches out and it's a warm palm on his face, the thumb tracing over his wet eyes.

"Shinichi, it'll be okay— I know, _I know_."

(He was scared so he never tried to fight.)

His fingers move,_ thank god to reflexes_, and the gun clicks in the silence.

"S…Shinichi—?"

(But this time he does.)

_Bang._

.

.

.

Sweet, sweet relief.

.

.

.

AN: Very irrelevant to this chapter, but will _become very relevant_ in the following chapters, I'd like to make an announcement.

TL;DON'T WANT TO READ: If you're conscious of Japan's law in regards of rape and sexual assaults, I'm asking you to ignore that because I'm spinning off on my own kind of law, thanks~_  
_

I apologize that the law in this story has been very inaccurate (well, not all things CAN be realistically accurate, but I try…xD) But since the entire plot of the story rests on my wrong assumption, I don't have a choice but to continue it with inaccuracy.

(Prior to writing I had focused too much on researching the punishment for thievery, so I completely forgot about this huge detail. orz)

That said, I'd like to point out that the form of law in this story differs (will differ) a lot from Japan's law in regards to rape and sexual assaults. Contrary to Western definition of rape, Japan's definition is: a weapon/ or violence used to achieve _vaginal penetration_ and if the victim can prove that she fought back.

Which means to say that any forced oral/ anal penetration, and even the rape of men, does not constitute as actual rape. It's common for the police to be unsympathetic to rape victims and for attackers to walk free. And rape victims are often times looked at with shame and often times society blames them for their attack.

In summary: Yamada's assault on Shinichi would _not_ be considered rape if brought to court for his arrest. Shinichi's only option is to endure silently or…as Yamada creepily suggests: suicide.

BUT because that would make a horrifyingly sad story without a resolution—

(Or I have a route in mind where Shinichi _understands_ that he can't get justice from the law and therefore decides to get Yamada charged with his own murder—actually…wow, that's quite the sad idea with no happy ending.)

—I'm choosing to ignore Japan's laws for rape and hope that you (if you knew about this fact prior to the story) treat this as a work of fiction that strays far from the realities of Japan's actual law. And that instead of adhering to Japan's definition of rape, _you_ determine your own definition.

All in all, rape is a terrible crime no matter where committed and justice needs to be delivered where it's due. But to be honest, it was rather shocking for me to realize the lack of human rights that rape victims have in Japan (and possibly more places that I'm not aware of).

(And I hope I'm not coming off like a self-important idiot here. orz. I didn't know about this and should have researched ahh.; )

After all this has been said, I'd like to also let the readers know that this story had been in the works for a _very_ long time and that the chapters I'm posting are the chapters I have finished writing months ago. (Buffer chapters, if you will.)

And after re-reading chapters and receiving your lovely (and truthful) reviews, I realized how terrible the story is, content wise and feel sick that I've written something this horrible. orz (So yes, whenever I see the reviews, I feel a gut of disgust just along with you. ; n ; )

It was a rather good idea at the time, but now…eh, I get very sick in the stomach just re-reading and editing it before uploading it here. To be honest, I'd like to discontinue the story and delete it off the face of the earth before anyone else gets to read it. ; n ;

But because I'm determined to give Shinichi a happy ending and because you guys deserve it too, I'll continue to write it (and possibly rewrite some prior chapters). I only ask that you forgive me for the inaccuracies and "improbabilities" that will come in the following chapters.

It won't be perfect, but I'll try. :'D Thanks for reading this ridiculously long author's note, and hope to see you in the next chapter!

(Oh. And also I made minor edits in the previous chapters, if you'd like you can read them again. It drives to the same plot but I changed the pacing a little by adding a bit more dialogue to make the scene flower better. xD Though I don't know if I made it better or worse. orz)

**-Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	8. the clouded glass clears

**AN:** This chapter depicts of the events between Ch.7's events of: Shinichi pushing Kaito away and Shinichi pulling a gun on Kaito.

This chapter and the following will be in Kaito's POV.

And sentences in brackets represent text messages.

Because this site is rather strange with their reading tools, I advise you to expand the story spacing to it's maximum for an easier and more comfortable read.

Thank you, and please enjoy. :)

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[Ran-chan, sorry for bothering you so late at night, but can you do me a favor and tell me about your classmates and teachers?]

[Huh? What for?]

[I just want to check something. Something is bothering Shinichi a lot, but he won't tell me.]

[Ah, okay. Well…in our class…]

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Teitan is a large, private high school.

There is only one officer roaming the halls at the dead of night. His shifts being from nine to two in the morning.

That's not really a problem for Kaito. Neither are the high walls and locked gates, since he can swing himself over the school walls easily.

He picks the window open and slips into the hallways. From his bag strung to his belt, he fishes out a small flashlight.

One click and the thin beam of light illuminates a neat row of room-numbers above each door frame in the hall.

He knows that there are three buildings that make up Teitan High. Two departments per building—science and math, language and history, physical education and art.

He has a lot of time to roam with the unlikely chance of running into the security guard.

He clicks the side of his monocle, the glass lights up into a faint blue—a map of Teitan and he's the white dot inside the Language and History building.

Kaito reaches into his pocket. He peels off a small microphone and sticks it on the wall—it registers in his monocle's screen as tiny white boxes.

He stamps his foot against the ground— the box lights up and fades.

His very own sound breadcrumb trail.

In Teitan, homeroom teachers all share a joint office where they prepare for homeroom announcements and keep notes and tabs on their students.

Teacher notes on Shinichi's odd behavior perhaps, Kaito thinks as he locates the joint office on his map.

He turns on his heels and walks, shoes barely making a sound against the floor. He pins a trail of bugs to the underside of the hall windows every ten steps.

_[__Well. __Our homeroom teacher is Takagawa-sensei, she teaches Japanese literature and composition.]_

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.

It takes him five minutes to find the office and twenty seconds to pick the lock.

Pulling open cabinets and unlocking desk drawers, Kaito sits in Takagawa's seat and cards through detailed information on Shinichi's classmates.

So far, none of them has a history of bullying in their records— the most serious case recorded in the disciplinary report was extortion for homework. And that was a long, long time ago.

For a rich kid's school, he's not surprised at the lack of delinquents. And even if there were they wouldn't dare mess with Kudou Shinichi.

He throws the files onto Takagawa's desk and picks up another fat manila folder.

Shinichi is an able detective who has the entire police force backing him like a family— Kaito can't imagine anyone having the gall to beat him into the emotional and physical state that he is in now.

So there must be something else that is forcing Shinichi to keep quiet.

He shuts the last of the folders and picks up the attendance sheet.

Kaito memorizes the names of his classmates before returning the huge stack of folders into Takagawa's desk.

Okay, new approach.

He singles out Shinichi's file and props it open.

Kudou Shinichi, third year, class 3-C. His grades look relatively normal in literature, history, physical education, and math. He scores high in physics (Kaito laughs a bit at this.), English, and biology.

Though if something did go wrong somewhere in the past week, it doesn't reflect in Shinichi's averaged scores in Takagawa's book.

He returns Shinichi's folder in its respective place. He picks out Takagawa's gradebook for _Japanese Literature and Composition._

Kaito flips to the last page. He turns several pages, skimming for Shinichi's name.

_[Takagawa-sensei…she's very strict with her students so she doesn't tolerate anyone sleeping in class. She's called on Shinichi several times to read in class because he falls asleep so much— he still reads it but…]_

The week's homework scores are normal, so are his tests and daily quizzes. Participation in class, however, decreased as the week went on.

He puts away the file and relocks her desk. Pushing himself back, Kaito moves to the desk next to Takagawa. Flashlight clenched between his teeth, he unlocks the compartment and pulls out the gradebook.

English.

_[Since Shinichi is already fluent in English, Kimoto-sensei lets him do whatever he wants. Shinichi usually just hides behind a book but last week…I think he was sleeping.]_

Test scores dropped dramatically from high marks to barely scraping the average.

Biology.

_[Kusumoto-sense is very easy going— barely any homework, but her tests are very difficult.]_

Daily quizzes fell dramatically in scores.

History.

_[Iroh-sensei is… well, she doesn't seem to care much about whether we learn or not.]_

Homework assigned the week before was not turned in.

Physics—

_[Hirae-sensei barely looks at us since he's a new teacher this year. Hmm, he's a nervous wreck and can't discipline the rowdier students in class.]_

Great marks in daily quizzes but homework… he hasn't turned in homework the whole last week, only started resuming it this week's Monday. (About the same time that Kaito came back from America.)

Physical Education—

_[Shinichi is his favorite student, so whenever he's not feeling well or pretending to be sick, Nagaya-sensei lets him go to the nurse's office.]_

— didn't even have a desk anywhere.

…Okay.

Kaito reaches the last desk, clean and neat. He feels the locks on the cabinets and with a pick— jiggles the drawers open—

Calculus—

_[Yamada-sensei… __everyone has at least heard of him. He has a really good rep at our school. __Hmm, he's really caring, a lot of students like him. He's made a lot of house visits and tutors the students struggling in his class. A lot of his students graduate with high scores at the end of the year.]_

_[__Is that so…I'd imagine Shinichi acing his class.]_

_[I assume__d__ he knew the material, but I remember seeing one of his test scores last week— it was 37%.]_

The drawers slide out with ease. It was empty, containing only a few books and a clipboard that was used for attendance.

_[Since Yamada-sensei has been a teacher at Teitan for a long time, he has his own office— 231, I think.]_

_Tp, tp, tp—_

The sound crackles in his ear before he starts hearing it within earshot.

Kaito turns off the flashlight and slips behind the row of desks. A flicker of light glances off the wall before panning out of the room.

Judging by the small boxes lighting up in the screen of his monocle, the security guard had taken a turn down the hall and headed down the stairs.

He gets up and slips out of the office after making sure the guard was making a bee-line for the library.

There are no leads; only that Shinichi's strange behavior reflects in his grades. Homework and tests assigned after Tuesday received poor scores as the week went on.

Whether it is coincidence that this started when Kaito had just left for America is still unclear.

He fixes the earpiece before meandering out into the hall.

He has no other clues to go by but just curiosity and a sickening gut feeling.

Kaito clicks his monocle and re-studies the building map.

_Office 231, huh._

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It's an old door located in the dead end of a hall. It's very out of the way to have an office located here.

Maybe it's a massive room and Yamada likes his space.

He flicks out the pick and wrench and the door comes unlocked within ten seconds.

_Tp._

Kaito touches the monocle on his eye and the screen blips to life— the security guard walks off the range of his bugs.

No immediate threat.

He pushes the door open and walks in. The room is surprisingly average like all other rooms, windows covered with Venetian blinds, bookshelves running behind a large wooden desk.

He walks closer and scrunches his nose— there's a weird smell in the room and he can't really place the odd tang.

(It's a forced fruity odor of an air freshener, smothering something else—something sour.)

Kaito runs the flashlight's beam across the bookshelf.

A glimmer catches his eye.

He switches the light off and presses a finger to the side of his monocle. The screen lights up and faint dots blink into his lens.

Spy cameras?

Weird. Why does a math teacher have spy cameras in his office?

The light is faint, so it's asleep.

Kaito turns the flashlight back on and walks up to the bookshelf, stuffed with dusty textbooks of calculus and little snow globes.

The camera is secured with tape but he rips it off anyways. The tape is dusty and grimy—the cameras must have been there for a while.

Kaito rolls the small round thing between his gloved fingers—

It's the same model, _xx9 wireless._

There are probably more.

Reactivating his monocle again, he finds ten cameras stashed away around the room. He dismantles it and leaves them rolling on top the desk surface.

Kaito re-scans the room, a strong signal is hidden away in one of the locked compartments of Yamada's desk.

He inserts his smaller pick into the keyhole and—

When the drawer is opened, the receiver is snug in the back corner, connected to a portable dvd player. Kaito prods at the player, it's off and empty.

(If the receiver is in this room, then the person who installed it had to be—)

CD cases lined the walls of the drawer, he pulls them out carefully and sets them on the chair. Kaito picks up a few and squints at the cover, barely making out the kanji scribbled on the plastic.

Yamato, Aki, and Tanaka.

700 mb CD-roms. _xx9 wireless_ is a spy camera with high quality video feedback— Kaito can only guess it holds about forty minutes a disc.

There are four discs labeled _Yamato _and with dates that stretch the span of two days. Five labeled _Aki _with the span of four days. _Tanaka _has three, the span of a week.

He shuffles through the tapes, racking his memory because he swears he's heard the names before…

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.

"Another suicide?" he asks. "Weren't there two just earlier this year?"

"It's obvious that the suspect is spacing it out," Shinichi mutters, running a finger under his chin. "Twice in a semester is already suspicious—"

Kaito lifts a brow, not impressed. "Serial… suicider…person?"

Shinichi scoffs and flings a stapled papers at his face. "Yamato, Aki, and Tanaka-san. All suicides with suicide notes. Just two days ago, Tanaka-san was found hung in his room with a note saying he's stressed about university entrance exams."

"…And?" Kaito drawls as he flips through the case information, briefly scanning pronounced deaths and detailed autopsy reports.

(Murder and dead bodies really aren't his forte, but Shinichi likes to brainstorm aloud—not to mention it's cute just watching him bubble about it.)

"Wasn't it you that confirmed their suicide? If their notes were written and signed by them, then they offed themselves for different reasons. What's left there to speculate?"

Shinichi pauses. "I don't know, doesn't it seem weird—?"

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.

Three suicide victims with no link found between them.

That's where the names sounded familiar. But why would a math teacher have discs with the students' names scrawled on them?

He piles the discs into his backpack, mind buzzing with questions.

It could be roms filled with homework information, but the fact that there are spy cameras, _the xx9 wireless models_, in the office in the first place—

If it's forty minutes per disc, that makes two hours and forty minutes filmed within the two days for Yamato.

He tucks the discs away.

What if Shinichi was right? What if the suicides were more than what the notes said they were—?

This could be the missing link—

But then there are nameless discs. At least thirty of them. Time frame—

Kaito's breath catches in his throat.

Last week and two days ago.

(It must be a coincidence— has to be.)

Twenty hours of _something _filmed within seven school days.

("Assuming is the worst mistake anyone can make," is what Shinichi had told him recently. "Anything can be coincidental, but without evidence, that's all it is. It's only just a coincidence.")

Kaito brushes the chill away to the back of his mind and slips the cases into his small backpack. He'll head home and make a scan of the contents on the discs—

He can only hope it's a coincidence.

Kaito swallows the lump in his throat and relocks the shelf. He was here to check Shinichi's grades, nothing else.

_He has no other clues to go by but just curiosity and a sickening gut feeling._

Flexing his fingers, he gets to work on picking the next drawer above it.

_The cameras, the time frame—the crazy coincidence of it all—_

Kaito pulls open the shelf.

_._

_._

_._

"What's weird?" Kaito asks and he puts the papers on the table. He watches Shinichi pace through the kitchen, his hand cradling his chin.

"Yamato claims that he was rejected from playing in the high school baseball league which drove him into taking his life. But he's always been benched during the leagues and never complained about it. Though, after interviewing the coach, it turns out that he asked to withdraw because of a…muscle injury."

"And you find that…weird?" Kaito nods slowly. Shinichi gives him a pointed look.

"…his autopsy report," Shinichi trails as he comes back to the table. He flips open the folder. "He had no _'injury'_, instead what they found on him were disappearing marks of various bruises."

Kaito quirks a brow and leans back in his chair. "I'm going to guess no one figured out where they came from?"

"I'm working on that," Shinichi sighs. "Next victim, Aki-san. She _did _have a boyfriend and she _did _have relationship problems with him but this was months ago. The man dumped her and Aki-san suddenly _decides _to die for that cause after two months…?"

Kaito shrugs. "It takes a long while for people to accept reality?"

"…Her friends said she participated in group dating," Shinichi hums, fingers tapping against the table. "A week before her death, her friends assumed she had gone steady with someone because she had stopped talking to them."

"…but?"

Shinichi puts a hand to his chin. "…she drowned herself in her bathtub, police found her with the hot water still running. After they retrieved her body for analysis, they discovered ligature marks on her neck, torso, thighs, wrists—thin but deep."

"Someone strangled her and put her in the tub," Kaito remarks.

"That's way too easy of an answer; there was no sign of forced entry or another person in the apartment within the last twenty-four hours since her death. And no one has a motive to kill her."

Kaito watches Shinichi settle into deep thought, thumb resting on his lower lip. Kaito adds, "Or…she's into bondage—"

Shinichi coughs and Kaito amuses himself watching his face flare red as he frowns. "I don't think so."

"Mysterious bruises and ligature marks all over the body," Kaito sighs. He pauses and flips through the complicated police reports scattered on the table. "Why hot water though?"

"…I think…she was trying to burn them off her skin," Shinichi mutters before he laughs hollowly. "Kind of a grim thing to do. Bruises and marks don't just disappear with scalding water no matter how much you try to convince yourself…"

Kaito watches Shinichi glance out the window, deep in thought. "So…you think their reason for dying is odd. It's not enough to persuade the police into investigating their suicides though—"

"Tanaka-san. He's a top student in the class—"

"If he is such a perfect student, it's likely that he'd have uni-exam stress. This week _is _Tokyo U.'s entrance exam, you know," Kaito points out. Shinichi raises a brow at him.

"Yes… that's possible since he's been very quiet recently. He wasn't really doing well in math or English in the past few weeks either, but—"

Shinichi's eyes widen.

"…Shinichi?"

"Oh." He turns to stare at Kaito. "…it wasn't Tokyo U. that he was applying for. It was _Tokyo Tech. _He kept juggling between the two but decided a few weeks ago."

"Ah—Entrance exams, next year February. That's six months from now."

"Exactly."

"So what made them…" Kaito flutters his fingers— "… er…die?"

"I don't know… they were all scared of something." Shinichi swallows, eyes meeting his. "…something that forced them to lie."

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_Tp._

The sight makes him want to retch.

Beige vibrators, tangled wires with crumpled tape, dildos of various sizes, dozen bottles of empty and half-empty lube—

_Tp._

Blackmail, serial sex offender—this was the _something _the three victims were running away from.

_Tp._

A black video camera sits hidden in the shadows of the drawer. Kaito picks it up gently, ignoring the chill when his fingers brushes against the empty plastic bottles.

(In this society where the shame is cast on the victim rather than the assailant, to live is just the same as to die— to suicide.)

The camera is a new model, recently purchased, no obvious scuff marks. He flicks open the display and bright blue glares from the LCD screen.

Recently used— there's footage inside.

03:47:21 minutes recorded.

(The blue screen sears his eyes—play, fast forward, stop, record. The white figures line up in a neat row on the bottom of the screen. _Press play, press play.__)_

Tp.

Kaito edges a finger to hit the small button under the triangle.

(Somewhere in his mind, someone is screaming for him to stop—)

The video fizzes to life and resumes at 00:05:23 minutes.

There's a half-naked person lying back on the desk, fear in his blue eyes, flushed to his toes, and a breathy voice behind the camera telling him to—

"_Touch yourself, don't hold anything back, Kudou-kun."_

Kaito's stomach clenches, he shuts his eyes, and he jams the fast-forward button hard—

_Tp._

The video stops at bruises peppering down an arched back, he's keening and gasping broken sobs into the air—_"Sensei, it hurts, it hurts—"_

"_Shh, you're fine, Kudou-kun."_

His fingers are shaking. It fast-forwards again—

_Tp, tp—_

The next time the video sputters to a stop, he sees him at 03:30:54 minutes.

He's not screaming or crying, but crumpled on the floor, limp with a mixture of red and white oozing down the side of his thigh.

The camera floats around him, and refocuses on his face. His eyes are a dull blue, lips swollen and moist. A hand reaches from behind the camera, cups his face and lifts it—

_Tp, tp, tp—_

"_That wasn't so bad, was it now, Kudou-kun? Shh, don't worry. I'll keep my promise. No one will know that Kuroba-kun is—"_

Kaito watches a tear slide down his face, lips trembling and there's one last choked cry—

And it hits him; the reason why there are so many unnamed tapes, why there are so many cameras, the reason why Shinichi clammed up and pretended to be _fine—_

"— _Kaitou Kid."_

Click.

Lights flood the room and Kaito turns.

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AN: And the case that Shinichi has been working on makes its appearance! I have spent quite some time working on this that I, without knowing, wrote more than what I did in the previous chapters. I hope that the length hadn't deter you from reading.

I would personally reply to the thoughtful reviews, but since I'm over due (and a majority are anonymous), I will thank you here! Thank you for being patient and very understanding of the last chapter's contents! I hope you continue with me as we near the story's end. :)

And also forgive me for leaving the last chapter (and now this chapter) at a cliffhanger.

**-Yoyoboyo Inc. **


	9. in the mirror, he shatters

AN: Hi. I apologize for the lack of updates due to personal life problems. I have a lot of assignments to read for school now, but I hope you enjoy. :) Please excuse the mistakes.

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When Kid comes to, he has him bruised heavily on the forehead and tied to his chair with silver duct tape.

He finds himself breathless with a deadly mixture of rage and adrenaline pulsing bullets through his veins. It takes a few minutes of controlled breathing for him to relax his hold on the cool can of sleeping gas.

The man is slowly gathering his bearings, still wincing at the reddening skin on his balding head.

(It'll bruise—not as badly as Shinichi was bruised though.)

He contemplates on landing another swollen lump on the other side of his head.

But Kid straightens his back and fixes the collar of his black turtleneck.

"So."

He stares at the can of gas in his hand. "Yamada-sensei, calculus teacher with a rather reputable presence in Teitan. A great teacher that cares for his student— convince the majority so that the targeted minority have no choice but to smother up."

Yamada breathes heavily, head lolling about, still in shock.

Kid regards the label running across the can. "With such a reputation, no one would have guessed this _other _hobby of yours— no one would have believed the select few because to everyone else— Yamada-sensei helped them in their studies, helped them graduate with high scores, helped them get into a university—"

Yamada lifts his head, eyes bleary and forehead bruised.

"Oops, didn't use it properly, did I now?" Kid smiles, flipping the can before whisking it away back in his bag. He taps the red spot on Yamada's forehead with a knuckle and pretends to not hear him inhale sharply.

"Sorry about that."

Yamada breathes, eyes flickering up to meet his stare. The corner of his lips lifts up— "That's quite the excellent deduction, I must say… It is nice that I finally meet the infamous Kaitou Kid. I've heard about you an awful lot, _Kuroba-kun._"

He twitches at the name but keeps his poker face smile. Kaito laughs, loud and dry. "Oh, _have you?_"

He snaps his fingers and a tied plastic bag appears without the smoke and glitter. "I think _seen _would be a more fitting term." Kaito opens the bag, reaches in, and bounces it— small, round, black with wires hanging off them.

Kaito notices Yamada's breath hitch. "Recognize these? _xx9 wireless—_oh please, don't look so surprised, sensei. I'm not so stupid."

He puts it on the table and draws out another one, admiring the tiny reflective lens. "I was keeping these around, looking for a possible source. Never knew I'd find the same model here."

"That's quite remarkable," Yamada remarks. "You're rather sharp."

"You're dealing with a thief after all." Kaito hums, voice light and he nudges his monocle up as a greeting. "A thief all too familiar with bug devices and spy equipment—"

(A thief so intuitive that when he came back from his trip, he knew something was _wrong_. He found the cameras and dismantled them when they were off.)

Kaito pauses and glances to the side, thinking— "…which is…why you pulled out cameras when I moved in…you already had them there, months…months ago."

(Months ago, before he had moved in. Months ago, when he had visited Shinichi—_in uniform._)

"Oh?" Yamada's voice pulls him back to focus. "So you've finally noticed."

"And…you put them back. Twenty cameras, five found in the perimeters of the house, two in the kitchen, five in the study, four in the library, two in Shinichi's bathroom, two in Shinichi's room— installed just a week ago." Kaito pauses and lets the words float into silence. "You attacked him while I was gone."

"And what of it, Kuroba-kun?" he simply states, a twitch in his smile. "You can't prove that."

Kaito smiles, sweet and strained. He flips his phone in the air and fiddles with the screen. Yamada stares at him warily just as he finished typing his email. He lets his phone disappear in the palm of his hand.

"You really underestimate me."

Yamada flinches when Kaito places the camera on his head and grinds it hard against skull—

"I'm a rather adept with knowing where these little things come from. A simple email to the retailer asking whether or not a…certain _Yamada Eiichi _is the consumer of more than thirty pieces of xx9 wireless cameras in the past half year—should confirm that assumption."

The color drains from Yamada's face but he's still grinning. "You're amazing, Kuroba-kun."

Kaito returns the smile and the round camera disappears from between his fingers. "Thank you, I try."

Yamada laughs, hoarse and breathy. Kaito's smile tightens. "Kudou-kun must have—"

(The name irritates him like an itch that can't be scratched. It only takes a snap of a finger and—)

"Don't call him that," Kaito says and the taser is out of his pocket and in his gloves, pressed hard to the underside of Yamada's sagging chin. "It's disgusting."

Kaito can feel Yamada's heart beat against the metal prongs.

"Showing your true colors now, huh, _Kaitou Kid?_"

Kaito glares.

"You're smart, so I think you've figured out that I have something on you."

"Blackmail," Kaito spits in disdain.

"Yes…why else do you think Kudou-kun kept quiet?" Yamada breathes unevenly, eyes flickering to the black taser gun in Kaito's hand. "There are footage—hours of them—of you parading in your attire and returning to your _love nest_ after your crimes—"

Yamada's voice climbs higher and his smile spreads—"It's quite the romantic comedy, I think. Kissing Kudou-kun, even making love to him as_ Kaitou Kid_—it's hilarious that you hadn't _notice _the camera."

(It was an itch, a nagging feeling whenever he visited. If only he had caught it _sooner_—)

"Shut up."

There's an abrupt pause as the teacher inhales, eyes dilated with sweat collecting above his brow.

"I've seen it all and I'll turn it into the police— so what are you going to do, huh, _Kid_?" Yamada spits, baring his teeth. His breath is growing shorter. "_Taser me?_ I thought you were better than that—violence is uncivilized."

Kaito considers him, smile falling, eyes narrowing. "And abuse isn't? It's _power-play._"

"Oh, Kaito-kun. Abuse isn't _just _about power—_no._ It's more than that. Abuse is intimacy, " he breathes with a greasy smile, "It worms into their hearts and makes a feast—it's _love_."

(In his monocle screen, the security guard is far on the other side of campus.)

_Drive stun mode for a minute_, his mind whispers.

Kaito presses the trigger and hears electricity crackle between the contact probes.

"—You're disgusting."

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.

With adrenaline and rage, Kaito becomes another person— a demon in human skin.

.

.

"Are you done crying? It's a bit unbecoming for a middle-aged man."

He pulls the taser away from Yamada's shoulder and taps it against the desk. Yamada has his head tossed back against the chair, breath shallow.

"I—I'll have you arrested—" he stammers, mustering a glare.

Kaito shuts him up with a rather hard tap to the forehead—

"As if I haven't heard that enough from every single policeman on the Kid Taskforce. Don't take me so lightly."

He pulls his arm away and studies the taser gun in his hand. "So, Yamada— pray tell me what else you did to him?"

Yamada is shuddering but he mutters—

He forced Shinichi into blow jobs every lunch period, toys were taped on him and taken off after the "tutoring session." Yamada would monitor his behavior via cameras in all his classrooms, if he misbehaves or tries to tell anyone else about Yamada's connections to the suicide, Yamada would use cock rings.

Kaito keeps his eyes on the taser gun as Yamada stutters about the dildo vibrator he shoved into Shinichi several times during the week—

"And how long did all this last per day?"

"Three—… three hours—"

He calmly sticks the taser into Yamada's leg.

.

.

.

"Okay, explain the video camera," Kaito says as he leans against the desk. "That's the reason why you came here tonight, right?"

Yamada is breathless, voice hoarse from screaming.

Kaito starts again, "You have ten spy cameras in the room, excellent quality, mind you— so why a video camera?"

"Personal reasons," Yamada huffs. Kaito raises an eyebrow and the look he gives makes Yamada cringe. "For memory's sake."

Kaito picks it up, the image of Shinichi's pained face still frozen on the LCD screen. It turns his blood cold, and he records the stifling silence over his red eyes.

The silence stretches.

"You personally record the rape, replay it on a widescreen TV, and masturbate to it."

(Saying it makes him sick to the stomach.)

Yamada has the gall to chuckle. "You can't help the temptation—"

Kaito disassembles the video camera with quick fingers, whisking the SD card up his sleeve, pulling out the battery, calmly snapping the screen off the device, and grinding the glass screen under his shoe.

"You're disgusting."

Yamada watches him kick the remains under his desk an oily smile stretching on his lips. "That's a great compliment, Kuroba-kun."

Kaito turns around and treads a few steps away, hand picking at his monocle— the security guard has gone back to his perch.

His sense returns to him in a slow trickle.

"Well, this is a bit trying," Kaito says loudly, pocketing his hands. "You have videos that incriminate me. In turn, I have discs containing hours of underage, non-consensual activities as well as a personal video log of _Japan's well-known high school detective_ writhing on your desk. I'd say life-imprisonment would do you good."

Yamada laughs. "So what are you waiting for? Call the police and have me arrested right now." Kaito inhales. "But I ensure that _you'll _be coming with me."

There's an amused snarl on Yamada's lips as he continues, "Or are you thinking you can get away if you steal them from me?"

Kaito doesn't bat an eye. "Funny how you would mention it."

"I thought it would be courteous to let you know your options."

A cellphone appears in Kaito's hand and he starts pressing the keys. Kaito throws him a smirk.

"Why don't we both go to jail? We both serve time. No one loses, no one wins. Wouldn't that be a great idea?"

He hears a high-pitched laugh bubble behind him. Yamada is getting desperate. "But oh, you're forgetting Kudou-kun—"

The name makes Kaito twitch and his fingers curl around the taser gun again.

"Does Kudou-kun want you to go to jail? Does he want to be outed as a whore? Think hard, Kuroba-kun. If you are so willing to turn yourself in, for _what _did Kudou-kun keep quiet for?"

Kaito studies the beige walls and the distasteful paintings on it.

"You know how it ended for the last three victims," Yamada licks his lips, eyes wide and edging on maniacal. "Suicide, suicide—"

Kaito scoffs, "Shinichi is much stronger than that."

"Thirty-six discs, one thousand and forty-four minutes he's spent with me." There's a giggle, out of tune and inappropriate. "You have so much faith that what you can't see isn't already broken."

Kaito's grip tightens around his phone.

"What happens if everyone knows about you, about Kudou-kun and his _shame— _he'd think he's better off dead, hm?"

"Okay," Kaito simply says as he slips the phone back into his pocket. Yamada breathes a sigh of relief—

"I understand what you're trying to do. You're trying to bore me into not turning you in."

Kaito pulls out the can of sleeping gas, he presses the spray and hears the mist exit.

He smiles.

"Let's actually use this correctly, why don't we?"

.

.

.

Kid slams the stack of CD cases hard on the desk that they nearly crack under the pressure—

"Yamada Eiichi, calculus teacher at Teitan High school, I want you to arrest him," he says. "He's outside. He's quite the heavy-weight, so I took the liberty of using his chair to tow his massive body here."

Megure and Takagi, working closing a case late at night, both gape at him and follow the direction of Kid's thumb to the door. Yamada is knocked unconscious with two large lumps on his face and tied to his chair with duct tape.

A piece of rope secures the rolling chair to a pole outside the station.

"Wait, what is this—" Takagi stammers, Kid ignores him and starts separating the discs into piles—

"Megure-keibu," He pauses to make sure he's watching. "Do you remember Yamato, Aki, and Tanaka-san?"

Megure habitually snaps on gloves and picks a case up. He squints at the name and dates. "Yes…they were the usual case of suicides."

"That's not what _he _thought," Kid breathes as he straightens himself. "Three classmates in Teitan suicide within this year. This teacher—blackmailed and raped all three. Evidence: video footage."

Megure blinks, "U…Understood—" He collects the discs and looks at Kid, at the tight fists he has pressed against the table. "Kid, are you all right—?"

"Can I…" Kid mumbles and begins emptying the plastic bag of CD-rom cases onto the table. He stacks the cases atop each other (stacking six by six). "Can I ask that you keep this one…private?"

"Kid-san—" Takagi pauses when Kid turns to him. "… what's…that?"

"… the discs of his latest victim."

His eyes doesn't leave the dates scribbled across the cover.

_("That wasn't so bad, was it now, Kudou-kun? Shh, don't worry. I'll keep my promise. No one will know that Kuroba-kun is—")_

"…Kid?"

He blinks and Megure and Takagi are staring at him and the stacks of discs.

Kid sighs and he drops the SD card on top of the middle stack.

"…It's Meitantei-kun."

.

.

.

It's three in the morning when Kaito returns home.

(Yamada is behind bars—)

He tosses his backpack on the floor in the hall as he walks up the dark stairs, feet making heavy thuds as exhaustion climbs over his shoulders.

(And soon Kaito will join him.)

Second bedroom to the left is Shinichi's room— Kaito touches the door knob.

It's still locked.

(It's okay though, Kaito tells himself. Yamada is gone now, he won't hurt him anymore. He won't hurt anyone anymore.)

He jiggles the door slightly and it unlocks within a few seconds.

The door nudges into a figure shivering on the ground—

(Seven years in jail for all the charges hanging over his head. Possibly more because he assaulted him with a taser gun.)

"…Shinichi?" He kneels and scoops him up with an arm.

(If it's to protect Shinichi, he'll gladly serve time.)

"Hey, Shinichi—"

Kaito smiles softly as he runs the back of his hand down Shinichi's cheek—the smile falters when wetness and feverish skin greets his knuckles. "…Shinichi, you're burning—"

Shinichi jerks away with a shudder, "Nn—"

Fever medicine is downstairs in the kitchen cabinet, Kaito tells himself.

Kaito pulls him into an embrace, cradling his head into his chest, hand lightly gripping his arm to calm the trembles—

"Let's get you to bed—"

An intake of breath and Shinichi screams, voice ragged and weak. .

"No, no— get away, get away—"

A rough hand tries to shove Kaito back, but Kaito holds him closer. ""You'll be fine, you'll be okay." Shinichi crumples into sobs, his hands fisting into the fabric of his cotton shirt. "I'm here—"

Shinichi thrashes, a loose fist hits his jaw and Kaito lets go, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched. "S…Shinichi?"

There are tears on his face and his eyes are wide, he's awake, but not _seeing _him.

(And that splits Kaito in half.)

"Get away, leave me alone—!" Shinichi yells, and he retreats to the corner where his desk meets the bed—

"Shinichi, it's me—" Kaito places a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the tremble from his shoulder. "It'll be all right, okay? I've got you, you're safe—"

There's a sharp angle against his rib cage, but he ignores and wraps his arms around him.

(It hurts to see him broken like this and to know _why—_)

Broken sobs and watery whimpers, Shinichi breathes fast into the seams of his t-shirt, "I don't want to— no more, it hurts, it hurts, sensei, please. Stop—"

"No one's hurting you anymore," Kaito urges, fingers clenching around the thin t-shirt Shinichi is wearing. "No one will hurt you—"

"I don't…want," he whispers and shudders away, back meeting the corner.

"You don't have to anymore—" Kaito says with a weak smile. He reaches out a hand to stroke Shinichi's face, he traces the underside of Shinichi's wet eyes.

"Shinichi, it'll be okay— I know, _I know._"

(He knows what happened, he _knows—_)

He sees it before he hears it.

(—that Shinichi is scared.)

_Click._

His blood runs cold at the barrel aimed at his chest.

"S…Shinichi—?"

_Bang._

—

—


End file.
